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AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


OP 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


WITH    A    PREFACE    BY 

R.    SHELTON    MACKENZIE,  LL.D. 

LITEBABT  EDITOB  Or  TIU  "  FIULAOELPHIA  FS£88." 


"  The  Autobiography  of  Edward  WorUey  Montagu  it  the  most  remarkahU  hook  thai 
has  been  given  to  the  public  for  many  years.  The  author  was  the  only  son  of  Lady 
Mary  Worthy  Montagu,  whose  career  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  of  any 
woman  in  the  annals  of  England  during  the  last  two  hundred  years.  The  autobiogra- 
phy introduces  kings  and  princes,  politicians  and  poets,  men  of  law  and  men  of  letters. 
In  fact,  it  gives  life-like  portraits  of  dead  men  and  women,  among  whom  will  be  found 
George  the  Second— Frederick  Prince  of  Wales — Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu — Sarah, 
Ihtehess  of  Marlborough — TJie  Earl  of  Chesterfield — WalpoU — Fielding — ColUy  Gibber — 
Ft>pe,  whose  absurd  love  adventure  with  Lady  Mary  is  described  at  length — Howard,  Earl 
of  Suffolk — Savage — Lord  Lyttelton — Bully  Booke — iMrd  Scarborough — Molly  Segrave — 
The  Duchess  of  Manchester — Dr.  Young — Lady  Vane — I^ord  Patmore  and  his  wife,  the 
Duchess  of  Leeds — Kitty  Hyde,  afterward  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry — Lady  Betty  Moly- 
neux — Lady  Fanny  Shirley — Windham — Pulteny — Lady  Bolingbroke — Dodington — Lady 
Archibald  Hamilton — Sir  William  Yonge — Tom  Warrington — Hogarth — Qmgreve — Gay 
— Prior — Fax,  afterward  the  celebrated  Lord  Holland — Lord  Hervey — T/ie  Duke  of 
Kingston — Bishop  Burnett — Sir  Richard  Steele — Lady  Bella  Bentinck — The  prqfligatt 
Duke  of  Wharton,  etc.,  efc." — London  Evening  Post. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.  B.  PETERSON   &   BROTHERS; 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


DA 
SO  J 

M7/AX 

EDITOE'S   PREFACB. 


The  life  of  Edward  "Wortley  Montagu,  related  in 
the  autobiographical  form  which  gives  so  much  reality 
to  a  narrative,  is  more  romantic  in  its  incidents — 
many  of  which  are  historical — than  most  of  the  sen- 
sational novels  of  the  present  day.  His  father,  who 
was  successively  a  member  of  the  British  ministry, 
early  in  the  reign  of  George  I.,  and  Ambassador  to 
Turkey,  was  a  man  of  considerable  learning,  and  the 
personal  friend  of  Swift,  Steele,  Addison,  Congreve, 
and  Garth.  His  mother,  equally  distinguished  for 
beauty  and  talent,  was  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duke 
of  Kingston,  and  takes  rank  by  her  ability,  accom- 
plishments and  celebrity,  among  the  most  eminent 
women  that  England  can  boast  of.  She  was  the  first 
European  lady  who  was  ever  allowed  to  visit  the 
Seraglio  of  the  Sublime  Porte,  in  Constantinople,  and 
the  reports  of  subsequent  visitors  attest  the  accuracy 
of  her  graphic  description.  She  was  so  fascinating, 
that  Pope  esteemed  her  as  highly  as  he  did  his  own 
poetry,  which  is  saying  much,  and  when  she  rejected 
his  love,  gave  her  name  an  amber  crystallization  in 
his  severest  satire. 

The  younger  Montagu,  eldest  child  of  these  bril- 

428827 


iV  PREFACE. 

liant  parents,  was  unfortunate,  from  his  earliest  in- 
fancy, in  being  disliked  and  ill-treated  by  them.  His 
growth  was  one  of  neglect,  privation,  and  harshness. 
He  was  left  to  the  society  of  menials,  and  may  be  said 
to  have  picked  up,  rather  than  received,  his  education,  • 
though  he  was  in  Westminster  School  for  a  short  time. 
His  adventures,  before  he  reached  years  of  manhood, 
are  related  in  the  following  pages,  and  are  crowded 
with  vicissitudes.  "Whether  he  followed  the  humble 
occupation  of  chimney-sweep,  lived  with  gypsies  in 
their  camp,  served  on  board  ship  as  cabin-boy,  in 
Spain  was  imprisoned  by  the  "  Holy  Inquisition,"  his 
life  was  peculiar  and  romantic  to  a  degree. 

The  most  celebrated  men  and  women  of  England, 
during  the  reign  of  George  the  First,  are  introduced 
into  this  work.  Mr.  Montagu  met  them  frequently, 
knew  them  well,  and  has  described  them  as  he  found 
them.  There  is  no  flattery  of  the  great  in  his  narra- 
tive; he  tears  the  mask  from  the  face  of  vice,  and 
does  not  even  spare  his  own  mother !  It  is  a  picture 
of  English  society,  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  back — 
in  its  way,  a  moral  panorama. 

R.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    I. 

My  mother  was  a  wit.  She  wrote  poetry,  composed 
epigrams,  penned  the  liveliest  letters,  and  scribbled  off  the 
bitterest  ballads  on  all  her  friends  and  acquaintances. 
Her  tongue  was  always  tipped  with  gall  and  bitterness ; 
her  pen  was  finely  pointed  with  venom.  Scandal  was  her 
great  delight ;  her  eye  flashed  with  glee  at  a  double  mean- 
ing ;  a  loose  anecdote  of  one  of  her  lady  loves  lifted  her 
into  Paradise  for  the  day.  Happily  for  her,  the  enchanting 
freedom  of  her  female  friends  was  such,  that  she  was 
seldom  without  the  ambrosial  essence  which  made  her 
blest.  She  kept  a  diary,  in  which  she  noted  down,  in  the 
broadest  terms,  every  little  slip,  or  sally,  or  frail  foible 
which  her  dearly  beloved  of  the  masculine,  feminine,  or 
neuter  gender — and  these  last  constitute  a  great  proportion 
of  what  is  called  "the  best  society" — committed,  or  were 
said  to  have  committed;  and  when  the  story  was  not  in 
itself  particularly  piquant,  she  spiced  and  seasoned  it  in 
her  own  fashion,  so  as  to  render  it  hot,  agreeable,  or  stim- 
ulating to  the  depraved  taste  of  those  in  whom  her  heart 
sought  comfortable  fellowship.  Her  heart,  did  I  say  ? 
Alas!  she  had  no  heart  I  What  female  wit  ever  had? 
There  was,  it  is  true,  a  globular  piece  of  flesh  somewhere 
between  the  right  and  left  lung,  and  this  performed  the 

(9) 


10      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

merely  ampiai  functiors  of  that  noble  organ,  but  resembled 
its  prototype  only  as  a'n  automaton  might  resemble  a  man. 
It  was  a  Sfiddeoing  thing  to  look  upon  so  fair  an  outside, 
and  reflect  how  base  and  black  was  all  within.  The  asp 
lurking  under  roses,  the  gilded  chalice  filled  with  poison, 
the  whited  sepulchre  covering  rottenness — ^these  are  hack- 
neyed images,  or  I  would  have  likened  her  to  one  and  all. 
Yet  what  more  appropriate  picture  of  false  man  or  heart- 
less woman  than  this  last?  How  fine  and  smooth  and 
shining  is  that  marble  exterior !  the  carving  beautiful,  the 
devices  exquisite,  the  lines  and  curves  breathing  grace, 
elegance,  and  perfection !  the  inscription  eloquent  of  the 
angel  that  lies  beneath !  We  lift  up  the  lid.  Pah !  an 
ounce,  no,  a  ton  of  civet  to  sweeten  the  poisoned  atmo- 
sphere. And  what  are  these  I  see  creeping,  crawling, 
writhing,  horrible  in  ghastly  life,  in  and  out  the  eyes,  over 
the  mouldering  cheeks,  through  the  tangled  clotted  hair, 
that  once  glittered  like  Apollo's  golden  tresses  ?  Let  us 
replace  the  cover,  nor  scan  too  closely  that  view  of  hell 
which  is  beheld,  when  human  hearts  or  sepulchres  are 
opened.  If  the  gods  see  all  hearts  as  I  have  seen  some, 
why  then  I  doubt  if  they  can  be  happy.  I  would  not  be  a 
god  on  any  such  condition. 

Lady  Mary  was  a  duke's  daughter,  and  I  have  the  super- 
lative felicity  of  high  descent.  The  blood  that  rolls  in  my 
veins  is  of  the  noblest  quintessence.  It  is  made  of  the 
rarest  claret,  the  finest  venison,  the  richest  turtle,  the  most 
delicious  punch,  and  the  most  fragrant  grapes  and  pine- 
apples. These,  I  think,  may  be  said  to  constitute  the  heav- 
enly ichor  of  our  patricians,  and  of  this  divine  food  our 
bodies,  I  suppose,  are  made.  Where  our  souls  come  from 
is  quite  a  different  afiair. 

I  remember  my  grandfather  well.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
full  of  state  and  grandeur,  so  courtly,  so  benevolent  in 
seeming;   harder  than  granite  in  his  inner  essence.     He 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       11 

trod  the  earth  as  if  it  were  highly  honored  by  his  foot ;  he 
looked  up  at  the  heaven  to  see  whether  the  sun,  the  moon, 
and  i^lanets  did  not  regard  him  with  admiration.  With 
his  star  on  his  left  breast,  just  over  the  place  where  his 
heart  was  supposed  to  be,  and  in  his  ducal  dress  of  velvet 
and  gold  and  ermine,  did  he  not  look  the  impersonation  of 
all  that  was  heroic?  He  certainly  did.  That  sparkling 
star  was  a  symbol  of  the  sparkling,  shining,  glorious  heaven- 
descended  spirit  enshrined  within  that  patrician  heart, 
beaming  with  every  virtue,  and  quite  eclipsing — if  it  could 
be  seen — the  radiant  lustre  of  the  jewels  with  which  the 
star  was  studded.  But  unluckily  the  spirit  could  not  be 
seen.  It  was  too  fine  a  spirit  to  show  itself  to  vile  corporeal 
eyes ;  it  was  so  like  divinity  in  its  brightness,  that  mere 
ordinary  mortals  would  be  stricken  blind  or  dead,  like 
Paul  or  Semele,  if  they  did  but  behold  it  in  its  celestial 
effulgence.  The  Prime  Minister  of  the  day,  therefore,  who 
was  alone  conscious  of  its  rare  excellence,  determined  that 
some  appropriate  badge,  some  small  faint  type  of  that  which 
was  invisible,  should  be  shown  to  the  unconscious,  vulgar 
world,  to  win  their  worship  of  the  Beautiful.  He  gave  him 
the  blue  ribband  of  the  Garter. 

His  grace,  the  Duke  of  Kingston,  was  generous  to  a 
fault.  His  bosom  overflowed  with  gratitude.  Could  there 
be  a  better  proof  of  his  virtue  ?  He  was  determined  not  to 
be  outdone  by  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  He  at 
once  placed  at  his  disposal  some  half  dozen  boroughs  and 
their  independent  members,  then  very  much  wanted  in  a 
House  of  Commons  more  piggish  than  the  Minister  thought 
right.  He  went  farther.  He  gave  him  up  his  very  soul. 
From  that  day  he  became  the  most  obedient  servant  of  the 
Cabinet.  The  opposition  was  base  enough  to  call  him  a 
pliant  tool  and  sycophant.  He  voted  black  white,  and 
white  black.  He  defended  all  that  Ministers  did,  and  vili- 
fied  all  that  the  out-of-place  purists  solemnly  declared  they 


12      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

onght  to  have  done.  He  was  loud  in  their  praise  ev;n 
when  I  fear  he  knew  that  they  were  villians ;  he  was  chiv- 
alrous enough  to  take  upon  himself  a  portion  of  their  most 
criminal  responsibilities.  He  did  not  scruple  at  falsehood, 
if  falsehood  was  necessary.  He  would  not  speak  an  untruth 
for  a  diadem ;  no,  the  aristocracy  never  speak  lies ;  they 
only  think  and  act  them ;  they  don't  commit  themselves ; 
but  his  whole  public  life  became  thenceforth  a  living  lie. 

The  Mussulmans  say  that  when  we  are  dead,  and  waiting 
to  be  damned,  our  vices  assume  some  hideous  form,  and 
present  themselves  before  the  astonished  ghost,  with  some 
such  words  as  these,  "  while  you  lived,  you  rode  me,  now 
it  is  my  turn  and  I  will  ride  you,"  whereupon  the  horrid 
beast  ascends  the  back  of  the  defunct,  and  rides  him  ever- 
lastingly through  the  plains  of  hell.  If  this  be  true,  and  I 
hope  it  is,  we  shall  see  some  queer  creatures  in  the  infernal 
regions.  I  expect  to  find  my  grandfather  there  with  some 
misshapen,  gigantic  fox  or  colossal  rat  seated  on  his  ducal 
back,  spurring  him  through  perdition,  and  glaring  on  him 
with  vulpine  eyes  of  fraud,  cruelty,  cunning,  and  duplicity. 
And  both  will  probably  lacquey  after  the  Minister,  whose 
monstrous  rider  I  shall  rejoice  to  see.  I  hope  he  will  show 
him  no  more  mercy  than  the  old  Man  of  the  Mountain 
showed  Sindbad  in  the  Eastern  tale. 

My  mother  was — ^let  me  see,  how  old  ? — ^two-and-twenty 
when  my  grandfather  summoned  her  one  fine  morning  into 
his  awful  presence.  A  grand  match  had  been  proposed ; 
it  was  sanctioned  by  the  Minister,  it  was  approved  by  the 
King.  It  would  unite  two  powerful  families,  whose  political 
interests  conjoined  would  make  the  opposition  tremble,  and 
flaming  patriots  see  the  folly  of  their  ways.  Fifteen  worthy 
and  incorruptible  boroughs  would  be  at  the  immediate 
command  of  the  distinguished  statesman  who  then  happily 
guided  the  destinies  of  England,  and  led  in  his  leash  the 
two  noble  and  high-minded  peers  who  were  to  blend  their 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       18 

blood  in  holy  matrimony.  The  lady  who  was  to  cement 
this  sacred  triple  alliance  was  nothing  in  their  considera- 
tion ;  a  majority  in  the  Commons  on  a  beer  bill  was  the 
main  and  moving  engine.  Secure  this  and  England  was 
saved ;  lose  it,  and  the  destinies  of  uncounted  millions, 
including  the  ministry,  were  forever  destroyed.  Any  single 
woman,  a  score,  a  thousand,  a  myriad  weighed  against 
this  was  of  course  lighter  than  a  feather  or  a  flake  of  snow. 
The  bridegroom  was  sixty-five,  but  he  was  a  nobleman 
of  immense  wealth,  ancient  pedigree,  and  blue  blood,  azure 
enough  for  the  most  fastidious  Spaniard.  He  was  rotten 
with  every  disorder  that  unbridled  indulgence  in  the  court 
of  King  Charles  the  Second  of  sacred  memory  and  his 
cougregated  vestals  was  sure  to  entail  upon  the  happy 
votary  of  morning,  noon,  and  midnight  pleasure;  but  he 
had  high  breeding,  was  perfectly  well-dressed,  and  owned 
two  castles,  fifty  footmen,  not  including  his  members  of 
Parliament,  who  were  out  of  livery.  He  had  seduced  in 
his  vigorous  days — alas!  they  were  now  gone  forever — 
several  scores  of  women,  and  cast  them  on  the  streets, 
with  their  and  his  offspring,  with  a  philosophy  worthy  of 
the  Spartans,  or  that  venerable  sage,  Mr.  John  James 
Rousseau ;  but  his  plate  was  superb,  his  cooks  first  rate, 
his  snuff-boxes  in  fine  taste,  and  his  smile  when  the  paint 
was  fresh  looked  sweet  and  courtly.  Among  his  private 
friends — ^the  cream  of  the  cream,  the  flower  and  glory  of 
the  peerage — he  sometimes  unbent,  and  even  condescended 
to  give  a  reason  for  the  unbelief  that  was  in  him.  He  had 
seen  too  many  bishops,  he  said,  to  believe  in  God ;  too 
many  patriots  to  believe  in  honesty,  and  too  many  court 
virgins  to  believe  in  chastity ;  so  he  lived  on,  mocking  all 
three,  and  flourished,  and  was  fawned  upon  by  all  who  loved 
good  feeding  more  than  heaven,  and  did  not  care  what  lies 
they  told,  so  that  the  paunch  was  filled  and  the  gullet 
tickled  with  gratuitous  dainties.     He  moved,  I  need  not 


14  EDAVARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

say,  in  the  most  exalted  circles  of  rank  and  fashion ;  he 
blazed  in  the  highest  spheres  of  light — the  observed  of  all 
observers,  the  adored  of  all  matrons  who  had  fair  daughters 
to  dispose  of  in  the  slave  market  of  Pall  Mall  or  Gros- 
venor  Square.  The  Minister  alwaj's  smiled  on  him,  as 
Satan  might  on  one  of  his  imps — ^the  courtiers,  pages,  and 
other  honorable  and  noble  lick-plates  about  the  palace, 
half  prostrated  themselves  in  the  dust  as  he  appeared,  for 
such  were  the  commands  which  Gold  Stick  issued.  The 
maids  of  honor  quarrelled  about  him,  and  almost  pulled 
caps  when  no  superior  spirit  was  nigh.  There  was  scarcely 
a  lady  in  the  land  who  would  not  have  felt  herself  dignified 
by  his  friendship,  and  would  not  have  jumped  at  an  offer 
of  his  white  and  jewelled  hand,  though  it  must  be  owned 
It  trembled  more  than  was  agreeable,  and  was  a  hand  that 
had  performed  many  dirty  operations.  He  was,  in  truth, 
a  very  noble  person,  and  when  I  read  an  account  of  him 
the  other  day  in  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jacob's  Peerage,  I  was 
rather  disgusted  with  Providence  for  permitting  so  rare  a 
specimen  of  mankind  to  die  at  all.  He  should  have  been 
immortal ;  he  should  at  all  events  have  lived  for  a  thousand 
years  or  two,  to  show  poor  erring,  low-bred,  shop-keeping 
human  nature  to  what  great  heights  it  raay  ascend — ^to 
what  splendid  summits  of  virtue  poor  fallen  man  under  cir- 
cumstances like  his  may  be  raised.  But  peace  to  his  name  I 
His  memory  will  at  all  events  survive  in  Jacob's  perfumed 
and  disinterested  page. 

This  noble  lord  was  filled  with  the  glorious  ambition  ol 
progeniting  me.  Of  all  the  fair  maidens  w^ho  moved  in 
the  glorious  galaxy  of  St.  James's,  the  fairest  in  his  eyes 
was  Lady  Mary  Pierrepoint,  eldest  daughter  of  his  grace, 
the  Duke  of  Kingston,  afterwards  my  esteemed  mother,  the 
Cassiopeia  of  Arlington  street,  and  the  toast  of  the  kit- 
cats.  He  came  in  a  coach  and  six;  he  saw  but  did  not 
conquer.     It  was  the  lady  who  won  the  victory,  but  it  was 


EDWARD     WORTLBY     MONTAGU.  15 

a  triumph  for  which  she  did  not  labor.  She  had  no  objec- 
tion to  see  lovers  in  scores,  or  even  in  hundreds,  harnessed 
to  her  chariot  wheels,  and  dying  for  a  smile,  a  glance,  or  a 
word  of  recognition,  but  then  they  must  be  at  all  events 
men.  The  Marquis,  it  must  be  owned,  was  now  scarcely 
one.  He  had  some  trifling  defects ;  trifling  in  the  eyes  of 
wisdom,  I  mean,  but  great  in  the  estimation  of  a  young 
lady,  who  I  fear  knew  more  than  was  quite  correct.  He 
rather  tottered,  his  breath  stank,  his  teeth  were  out,  he 
had  lost  the  sight  of  one  eye,  and  the  other  was  gummy ; 
he  often  drivelled,  and  became  a  disgusting  object.  But 
his  grace,  the  Duke  of  Kingston,  saw  only  his  rent-roll, 
and  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  considered  only  his 
boroughs.  My  Lady  Mary  cared  for  neither  just  at  that 
time;  she  had  another  man  in  her  eye.  Scandal  and 
Mr.  Pope  declare  that  she  had  two  to  whom  she  even  wrote 
love-letters.  Yet  she  did  not  disregard  wealth  and  fame 
with  a  fine  indifference.  She  was  too  sensibly  brought  up 
for  any  such  atheistical  heresy.  The  family  maxims  on 
this  point  had  been  of  the  most  orthodox  kind.  She  knew 
exactly  what  these  meant ;  she  had  thoroughly  calculated 
their  real  value ;  what  they  were  worth  and  what  they 
would  bring.  No  lady  in  the  land  better  estimated  the 
solid  contentment  of  heart  and  satisfaction  with  Provi- 
dence and  its  decrees  that  springs  from  thirty  thousand  a 
year,  and  the  possession  of  a  little  parliamentary  empire, 
with  which  one  can  do  as  one  likes.  But  she  thought  if  a 
man  was  tacked  to  them,  it  would  be  on  the  whole  a  better 
bargain  than  if  she  got  them  with  a  monkey  or  an  old 
corpse,  whose  very  touch  to  a  sensitive  woman,  and  this 
she  was  then,  was  like  pollution.  Well,  I  think  she  was 
right. 

Let  me  go  back  to  that  first  morning,  when  my  mother 
was  summoned  by  her  papa.  Let  me  proceed  to  Arlington 
street,  where  my  most  noble  grandpa  is  now  waiting  foi 


16      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

his  charming  daughter.  Methinks  I  see  him  seated  as  if 
in  royal  fasliion.  The  sofa  is  of  floAvered  satin,  and  his 
gold-embroidered  velvet  coat-tails  look  regal  and  flowing, 
and  terribly  sublime  on  the  brilliant  coverlet.  He  is 
periwigged  and  perfumed,  like  Louis  le  Grand,  and  is 
quite  enough  to  frighten  any  ordinary  young  lad}-  disposed 
to  rebel,  into  the  most  thorough  sense  of  propriety  and 
submission.  Kneeling  to  him,  my  mother  received  his 
Messing.  What  a  comedy  for  gods  and  men  must  this 
have  been !  She  is  motioned  into  a  low  chair  which  has 
been  already  placed  opposite  to  where  he  sits,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  broad,  finely  sculptured  chimney  piece,  over 
"which  frowned  a  grim  family  portrait,  awful  enough  to 
scare  even  ghosts  away.  I  am  told  she  trembled  as  if  half 
surmising  the  object  for  which  she  was  summoned,  but  if 
she  did  she  had  spirit  enough  to  conceal  it,  and  she  masked 
her  face  like  the  oldest  politician  of  the  Court.  She  had  a 
will  of  her  own  also,  and  was  fond  of  showing  it  when  it 
was  expedient.  Indeed,  all  her  friends  were  remarkably 
self-willed  young  ladies,  and  despised  papa  and  mamma 
with  the  most  well-bred  air.  But  as  they  knew  that  papa 
and  mamma  had  legacies  to  leave,  they  did  not  mind  telling 
them  so  in  public,  only  they  made  up  for  it  by  ridiculing 
them  in  private.  On  these  maxims  my  lady  rested,  and 
they  did  not  desert  her  now.  She  subsequently  became 
bolder  and  more  defiant,  and  when  she  had  learned  virtue 
from  Pope  and  Congreve,  modesty  from  Moll  Skerrett  and 
Doll  Townsend,  and  piety  from  Hoadley  and  Lord  Hervey, 
she  did  not  cast  down  her  eyes  half  so  Quaker-like  as  she 
now  did  in  the  illustrious  presence  of  Evelyn,  the  fifth 
Marquis  of  Dorchester,  and  Duke  of  Kingston. 

"Molly,"  says  my  grandfather,  "it  is  quite  time  that 
you  should  exhibit  to  the  world,  as  the  head  of  your  own 
establishment,  all  the  wit,  and  beauty,  and  accomplish- 
ments which  I  am  happy  to  say  j^ou  possess  in  a  far 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU.      17 

greater  degree  than  any  other  young  lady  that  I  have  the 
honor  of  knowing." 

"  Your  grace  says  very  true,"  says  my  mother,  with  a 
curtsey  and  a  shy  smile  of  self-approving  love. 

"Lady and  the  Duchess  of ,"  pursued  my  lord, 

"were  neither  of  them  so  old  as  you  when  they  married, 
and  I  believe  they  are  the  envy  of  all  the  fashionable 
world." 

"  Then  the  fashionable  world,"  says  my  mother,  "  must 
have  a  larger  superabundance  of  envy  than  I  thought  it 
had,  if  it  can  throw  any  away  upon  such  a  miserable  pair 
as  that." 

"  Why  ?"  says  my  grandfather,  looking  quite  innocent, 
and  as  if  unconscious  of  the  coming  answer,  though  I 
think  he  guessed  it. 

"  Why  ?"  rejoined  my  lady ;  "  because  Lord  A has 

lost  one  nose,  and  will  never  get  another,  and  the  Duke  of 

is  quite  old  enough  to  be  his  wife's  grandfather,  and, 

what  is  worse  still,  is  mean  enough  to  be  her  duenna." 

"  But,  my  dear  Molly,"  says  the  duke,  "  wives  don't 

marry  for  noses,  but  estates ;  and  Lord 's  property  is 

one  of  the  very  finest  in  England." 

"  Ah,"  says  my  mother,  "  I  don't  find  fault  with  the 
estate,  but  with  the  live  stock  that  goes  with  it.  If  one 
could  keep  the  estate  and  bury  the  stock,  it  would  be 
pleasant  enough." 

The  reader  will  judge  from  this  that  Lady  Mary  Pierre- 
point  was  any  thing  but  a  novice.  Indeed,  she  could  not 
well  be,  for  she  had  already  had  the  benefit  of  some  lessons 
from  Bishop  Burnett,  who  translated  Epicetus  for  her,  and 
then  persuaded  her  she  had  done  it  herself.  The  Duke  of 
Kingston  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  come  to  the  point. 

"  Molly,  my  love,"  said  he,  "  whatever  mistaken  notions 
you  may  entertain  on  these  matters — and  I  can  scarcely 
blame  you,  for  you  are  very  young — it  will  be  as  well  to 


18      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU. 

conceal  them ;  at  all  events,  just  at  present,  for  you  are 
going  to  be  married," 

My  mother  started  from  her  seat  as  if  she  had  been 
stung.  This  was  an  announcement  she  scarcely  expected 
to  hear.  She  knew  her  father's  energy,  but  had  not  reck- 
oned on  its  close  advent.  In  an  instant  she  composed 
herself,  but  there  was  a  fiery  agent  at  work  within,  of  which 
my  lord  duke  did  not  then  dream.  She  was  like  the  river 
Nile,  calm  and  still  and  stately ;  you  see  it  flowing  grandly 
before  you,  in  solemn  silence  and  unruffled — ^the  abode  of 
peace  and  innocence.  But  there  is  a  horrid  alligator  at  the 
bottom  of  this  majestic  stream  that  will  swallow  you  up  if 
3'ou  come  near  enough  to  molest  or  even  to  look  at  him. 
Beware  of  him,  oh,  wayfarer !  Even  now  his  eye  is  upon 
you,  and  he  waits  for  your  approach ;  there  is  death  in 
this  impassive  deep.  Advance  no  further  or  you  are  un- 
done. 

"And  who,  my  lord,"  inquired  she,  "is  the  distinguished 
stranger  of  whom  I  am  to  be  made  the  happy,  bewildered 
spouse  ?" 

"  Lord  ,"  sKja  my  grandfather ;  **  Lord  ,  who 

loves  you  to  madness." 

"  I  wonder  your  lordship  has  not  disentombed  Henry 
VIII  and  ordered  me  to  marry  him,"  replied  my  mother. 
"  He  would  certainly  be  as  agreeable  to  me  as  that  loath- 
some old  vampire,  of  whose  madness  indeed  I  never 
doubted." 

"  I  would  have  done  so,  if  I  could,"  answered  the  duke ; 
"  but  it  could  not  well  be  managed.  However,  as  I  cannot 
make  you  Queen  of  England,  I  have  done  the  next  best 

thing  to  it,  for  Lord is  certainly  one  of  the  most,  if 

not  the  most,  powerful  man  in  the  country." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  hear  that,"  answered  my  mother. 
"I  should  have  thought  the  blow  of  a  lady's  fan  would 
have  prostrated  the  wretched  pigmy." 


BDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAQU.  19 

••A  blow  from  your  fan  might,"  rejoined  the  duke,  gal- 
lantly. And  then,  as  if  meditating,  he  said,  half  to  himself, 
"  he  can't  live  a  year,  and  then  what  may  she  not  com- 
mand ?     What  rank  too  high  for  her  to  reach  ?" 

"  I  trust  your  lordship  will  give  me  some  time  before  I 
give  you  a  final  answer  to  this  unexpected  promotion — I 
mean  proposition,"  says  my  mother,  with  a  feigned  calm- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  answered  the  duke ;  "  any  time  you 
require ;  only,  as  you  are  to  be  married  on  Monday  next, 
you  need  not  prolong  your  meditation  beyond  that  period." 

"Monday  next  I"  almost  screamed  my  mother;  "and 
this  is  Thursday.     Is  your  lordship  reall}'  serious  ?" 

"  I  am  so  serious,"  answered  my  lord,  "  that  the  mar 
riage  settlements  are  all  drawn — ^they  are  very  different 
from  that  vagabond  Montagu's  notions — and  only  wait  to 
be  signed.  Velours  has  already  got  orders  to  make  up 
your  wardrobe.  It  has  cost  me  upwards  of  four  hundred 
pounds.  Your  bridal  jewels  will  the  finest  in  the  kingdom, 
so  you  will  have  no  trouble.  My  lord  makes  an  absolute 
settlement  on  j'^ourself  of  ten  thousand  a  year ;  and  if  you 
present  him  with  an  heir,  as  if  you  are  well  advised  you  no 
doubt  will,  he  increaees  it  to  fifteen  thousand  pounds  per 
annum." 

"  An  heir !"  cried  my  mother :  "  why,  he  is  sixty-five." 

"Pooh,"  says  my  lord  duke;  ^^you  can  get  the  old  fool 
an  heir." 

And  rising  very  gracefully,  he  bowed  my  mother  out  of 
the  room,  with  the  dignified  courtesy  of  any  king  but  an 
English  one. 

My  lord  duke  now  ordered  his  coach,  and  proceeded  to 
dinner  in  Cavendiah  Square  with  the  noble  lord,  his  in- 
tended son-in-law.  The  two  passed  a  very  delightful 
evening  at  the  princely  town  mansion  of  the  latter,  though 
I  blush  to  say  both  got  rather  fuddled   with  frequent 


20      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

toasts.    The  bridegroom's  health,  the  bride's  happiness,  an 

heir  to  the  house  of  ,  the  glorious  golden  days  of 

Charles  Stuart  and  his  Saturnalian  friends,  &c.,  &c.,  con- 
stituted the  staple  of  their  conversation,  and  lent  ambrosial 
sweetness  to  the  Champagne,  the  Burgundy,  and  claret. 
My  lord  duke  was  put  to  bed  by  his  two  servants  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning ;  in  an  hour  or  two  afterwards  my 
mother  eloped,  and  was  married  to  Edward  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu, Esquire,  second  son  of  the  Honorable  Mr.  Sidney 
Montagu,  whose  precious  name  I  have  now  the  pleasure  to 
bear. 

Thus  my  mother,  for  a  whim,  lost  fifteen  thousand 
pounds  per  annum — how  ijobly  and  splendidly  that  para- 
dise income  sounds — and  I  the  satisfaction  of  being  Lord 

,  with  two  castles,  a  palace  in  London,  fifty  footmen, 

and  a  dozen  grinning  lackeys,  with  M.  P.  tacked  to  their 
names.  Such  is  Fate !  However,  I  do  believe  I  should 
have  been  happier  and  honester  as  a  chimney  sweep. 


CHAPTER    JI. 

Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  Esq.,  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, Ambassador  Extraordinaiy  to  the  Sublime  Porte, 
and  I  know  and  care  not  what  else,  was  of  a  descent  fully 
equal  in  heavenly  grandeur  to  that  of  my  most  patrician 
grandfather  on  the  maternal  side.  His  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Kingston.  The  Montagus,  by  the  most  undoubted  evi- 
dence of  Heralds  and  Kings-at-Arms,  traced  back  their 
pedigree  to  Drogo  de  Montagu  (in  Latin,  de  Monte  Acuto) 
of  the  county  of  Somerset,  whose  arms  were  azure,  a  gry- 
phon segreiant  or ;  though  they  afterwards  quartered  three 
fusils  conjoined  in  fess,  and  an  eagle  displayed,  emerald 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       21 

beaked  and  membered.  After  intermanying  with  the 
daughters,  or  reputed  daugliters  of  kings,  princes,  earls 
and  grandees — I  will  not  aver  that  grooms  or  footmen 
never  intervened  to  poison  the  pure  fountains  of  our  blood 
— one  of  them  became  a  duke,  (oh,  rare!)  and  another,  my 
immediate  ancestor,  an  earl,  for  having  faithfully  betrayed 
the  navy,  with  which  the  Commonwealth  intrusted  him, 
into  the  hands  of  His  Serene  Majesty,  King  Charles  Stuart, 
then  sojourning  in  Holland,  and  anxiously  awaiting  those 
golden  pieces  sent  from  England,  which  when  they  did 
arrive,  gave  such  sovereign  contentment  to  himself,  his 
lords  and  ladies  of  degree.  He  was  subsequently  shot,  or 
drowned,  or  stifled,  in  the  sea  fight  at  Soutliwold  Bay, 
fought  May  28,  16Y2,  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
York  having  had  the  pleasure  on  that  occasion  of  treating 
him  with  the  most  indecent  scorn  and  contempt — a  mark 
of  royal  favor  which  so  preyed  upon  his  sensitive  heart, 
that  it  is  supposed  he  threw  away  his  noble  existence  in 
disgust,  or  rage,  or  sorrow.  He  certainly  deserved  better 
from  one  for  whose  family  he  had  risked,  and  lost  all — 
that  is,  all  that  honorable  men  value ;  but  sic  erat  in  fatis^ 
and  I  suppose  it  was  right. 

The  Round  heads  and  Republicans  called  him  a  traitor, 
and  were  base  enough  to  exult  in  his  reward,  but  this  did 
not  disturb  his  respected  shade. 

His  second  son,  Sidney  Montagu,  was  my  father's  father. 
He  was  a  large  rough-looking  man,  as  if  he  had  some 
butcher's  blood  in  him,  with  a  huge  flapped  hat,  a  coarse, 
sensual  face,  a  thick  slobbering  lip,  a  heavy  cunning  eye, 
and  a  tongue  that  perpetually  rapped  forth  oaths,  blas- 
phemy, or  ribald  filth,  the  three  brilliant  graces  which  he 
had  acquired  in  the  Court  of  his  royal  master,  whom  in 
our  pure  thanksgiving  to  God  we  truly  designate  "our 
then  most  gracious  Sovereign  Lord,  thy  servant.  King 
Charles  the  Second." 
2 


22       EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

He  married  a  great  heiress,  the  greatest,  perhaps,  in 
England  at  that  time,  for  whom  he  professed  the  most 
fervent  love,  and  by  the  will  of  her  father,  Sir  Francis 
Wortley,  assumed  her  name  in  addition  to  his  own.  Thus 
he  became  Sidney  Wortley  Montagu,  Esquire,  of  Wharn- 
cliffe  Lodge,  in  the  county  of  York,  and  of  as  many  town 
houses  as  he  could  well  like.  This  was  a  grand  prize  for 
him,  but  I  fear  it  fared  but  sadly  with  the  other  party  to 
this  civil  contract. 

Like  most  young  women  who  marry  rakes,  or  hell-fire 
spirits,  she  had  the  worst  of  the  bargain.  The  partnership 
was  unprofitable  in  the  extreme.  She  was  treated  like  a 
dog,  or  a  king's  consort,  for  the  few  short  3'ears  she  lived 
under  his  wing,  was  eventually  separated  from  her  lord, 
and  never  ceased  regretting  or  cursing  her  fatal  jump  into 
the  Etna  of  holy  matrimony.  She  had  better,  indeed, 
have  gone  into  Tartarus  at  once.  But  thus  it  always  is, 
and  thus  may  it  always  be,  with  such  accursed  nuptials. 
Nemesis  avenges  them  if  no  other  person  does. 

My  father,  Edward,  was  the  second  and  only  surviving 
son  of  this  cat  and  dog  couple — ^the  reformed  rake,  who 
was  dissolute  to  the  last,  the  happy  bride  who  was  forever 
miserable.  His  own  marriage  in  due  time  was  quite  as 
comfortable  and  auspicious  as  his  father's. 

The  way  in  which  this  last-named  nuptial  was  brought 
to  pass  was  this.  My  father  had  a  sister,  Mrs.  Anne 
Montagu,  whom  he  very  much  regarded,  for  she  bore  a 
strong  personal  likeness  to  himself,  and  as  he  loved  the 
original  very  much,  he  could  scarcely  help  being  partial  to 
that  which  was  its  copy.  Besides,  she  flattered  him ;  and 
worthless  people  are  very  partial  to  this  species  of  luxury. 

Mrs.  Anne  had  got  acquainted  with  my  mother  in  some 
"way  that  I  have  now  forgotten.  The}'  presented  a  curious 
contrast;  almost  as  difierent  as  Harlequin  and  Pantaloon. 
Sallust  says  that  to  think  the  same  and  wish  the  same 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      23 

constitutes  the  basis  of  firm  friendship.  This  may  be  tnie 
in  politics — though,  in  politics,  I  don't  believe  friendship 
exists,  albeit,  hatred  does ;  but  it  is  certainly  not  true  in 
ordinary  life ;  for  there  we  see  that  persons  whose  charac- 
ters strikingly  differ,  are  most  often  knit  together  by  the 
strongest  bonds  that  love,  or  money,  or  omnipotent  and 
all-pervading  self-interest  can  fabricate. 

My  Lady  Mary  had  at  an  early  age  begun  to  cultivate 
her  talent  for  letter  writing ;  that  means  she  embellished 
all  she  heard  with  a  purple  tint  of  fable,  and  penned  it 
down  to  her  correspondents  as  veritable  truth.  This  is 
what  all  epistolizers  do,  as  the  scandalized  world  no  doubt 
will  one  day  find  out  if  Horry  Walpole's  gilt-edged  bud- 
gets of  lies  are  printed  by  some  son  of  Curll,  for  theii 
edification.  Every  alternate  sentence  of  that  prince  of 
cockle  shells  will  prove  to  be  either  absolutely  false,  or 
horribly  distorted  from  the  fact,  yet  so  nicely  dovetailed 
into  that  which  is  really  true,  that  only  the  wisest  will  not 
be  deceived,  and  the  general  readers  of  the  next  age  will 
form  the  most  erroneous  notions  of  the  leaders  of  this; 
unless  indeed  some  literary  madman  shall  arise,  and  devote 
the  whole  of  a  frenzied  life  to  find  out  that  remnant  of 
truth  which  will  then  be  almost  irrecoverable,  and  which 
if  recovered  will  not  be  worth  the  paper  on  which  it  is 
writ. 

She  had  run  through  Madam  de  Noyer's  memoirs,  and 
told  her  correspondents  how  insipid  they  were,  because 
they  did  not  detail  intrigues.  She  had  seen  Nicolini  as  a 
naked  savage  strangling  a  lion,  on  which  she  wrote  to  her 
friends  rather  curiously  than  chastely.  She  romped  with 
Nelly  Willoughby,  and  entered  into  nice  particulars  of  a 
tumble  which  Miss  Hoyden  got  from  the  top  of  a  wall, 
and  when  a  fire  happened  at  a  neighbor's  house  she  was 
witty  on  the  flight  en  chemise  of  the  frightened  inmates. 
She  poked  into  the  New  Atlantis,  and  knew  all  the  secrets 


24  EDWARD     WOBTLET     MONTAGU. 

of  that  demure  riddle  as  well  as  old  Mother  Manley  her- 
self, and  when  she  got  or  wrote  any  loose  lampoons  she 
communicated  them  freelj^  to  her  lady  friends  and  corre- 
spondents. In  a  word  she  was  a  most  delightful  living 
edition  of  Count  Grammont,  only  that  I  think  she  was  not 
half  so  guarded  in  her  speech  as  that  modest  chronicler  of 
the  loves  of  St.  James's.  Among  her  cherished  confidants 
was  Mrs.  Anne  Wortley.  Like  all  dull  phlegmatic  people, 
she  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  lively  anecdotes,  the 
touches  of  scandal,  the  vivid  narrative,  the  neat  jests  and 
flippant  double  meanings,  the  graceful  epigram  in  prose, 
which  my  mother  flung  from  her  with  a  careless  inimitable 
air,  that  had  all  the  fresh  bloom  of  nature  upon  it.  Of  the 
truth  or  falsehood  convej^ed  she  never  cared  to  inquire, 
but  like  all  such  human  frogs,  was  pleased  with  what  for 
the  time  enlivened  her  cold  blood,  and  reduced  others  to 
her  own  stagnant  level.  She  showed  these  light  lampoons 
to  her  brother,  who  shared  in  her  enjoyment,  and  began 
by  degrees  to  feel  a  sort  of  frog-like  attraction  to  the  fail 
letter-writer.  From  this  originated  their  first  acquaint- 
ance, and  Mrs.  Anne  was  a  decorous  go-between,  who 
fetched  and  carried  messages,  and  nobody  suspected  the 
virgin  prude  to  be  as  skilful  in  intrigue  as  the  most 
finished  abigail  of  the  theatre. 

Mrs.  Anne  Wortley  was  staid,  grave,  and  I  fear  stupid ; 
long-nosed,  and  lantern-jawed,  like  all  our  breed  ;  my  Lady 
Mary  was  arch,  livel}',  bounding  like  Camilla  in  the 
^neid,  the  embodiment  of  sprightliness  and  vivacity. 
Mrs.  Anne  had  grave  eyes,  a  solid  chin,  and  a  triangular 
face;  such  people  never  laugh.  Lady  Mary  had  an  oval 
face,  and  until  she  lost  it,  the  prettiest  little  cock-up  of  a 
nose  that  can  be  conceived.  Her  lips  and  mouth  seemed 
made  for  joyousness,  her  eyes  were  bright  and  piercing, 
and  full  of  flashing  lustre.  Mrs.  Anne  in  figure  was  like 
the  moving  sentry-box  of  leaves  which  covers  Jack-o'-the- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       25 

Green  on  May  day ;  she  walked  like  an  elephant.  Lady 
Mary  was  graceful  in  form  as  one  of  Diana's  nymphs — 
in  form  I  sa}',  for  in  nothing  else  could  she  resemble  a 
follower  of  the  huntress  queen.  Yet,  this  pair  were  really 
attached  to  each  other,  as  I  suppose  a  goose  and  a  canary- 
bird  might  be. 

Mr.  Montagu  and  Lady  Mary  Pierrepoint  accidentally 
met  in  Mrs.  Wortley's  room  one  afternoon — he  sick  of 
Addison's  conceit,  she  panting  to  enchain  a  man.  The 
rich  heir  was  at  once  fascinated  by  the  fair  lady.  She 
limed  him  with  a  glance,  and  the  bird  could  not  escape. 
In  vain  he  summoned  into  memory  all  the  grave  lessons 
of  caution  which  he  had  received  from  the  right  honorable 
Joseph,  himself  a  hen-pecked  husband  and  hater  of  the 
sex;  they  were  counterbalanced  by  lively  Dick  Steele's 
gay  pictures  of  wedded  bliss.  In  vain  he  brought  before 
him  all  that  Swift  had  vomited  about  those  fair  deities  of 
dirt,  who  then  constituted  the  fashionable  world,  and 
shone  like  firework  stars  around  its  galaxy ;  the  glittering 
outside  of  this  new  Calypso  served  but  as  a  foil  to  what 
he  for  the  moment  regarded  as  the  raving  folly  of  a 
woman-scorning  parson  with  a  dirty  cassock  and  a  muddy 
face.  They  talked  of  love,  money,  politics,  the  court,  and 
finally  of  Quintus  Curtius.  The  lady  declared  she  had 
never  read  him.  This  was  true,  and  was  a  clever  mode 
of  announcing  her  knowledge  of  Latin.  Tho  lover  was 
astonislied  to  find  a  woman  who  could  even  read ;  in  those 
Saturnian  times  only  a  few  could  spell.  A  few  days 
elapsed  and  she  received  a  superb  edition  of  that  affected 
writer,  with  these  lines — for  which  the  impassioned  lover 
paid  some  Grub-street  Tasso  half-a-crown — neatly  written 
on  the  leaf  that  faced  the  title  page. 

"  Beauty  like  this  had  vanquished  Persia  shown 
The  Mncedon  had  laid  his  empire  down, 
And  polished  Qreece  obeyed  a  barbarous  throne. 


26       EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Had  wit  80  bright  adorned  a  Grecian  dame 
The  am'rous  youtli  had  lost  his  thirst  for  fame. 
Nor  distant  India  sought  through  Syria's  plain  ; 
But  to  the  Pluses  stream  with  her  had  run 
And  thought  her  lover  more  than  Ammon's  son." 

The  affectation  and  silliness  of  these  love  verses  was  a 
fit  and  proper  prelude  to  the  whole  comedj"  in  which  this 
noble  pair  suhsequentl}'  played  the  hero  and  heroine.  A 
correspondence  begnn  in  falsehood  could  scarcely  terminate 
in  love.  An  oyster,  indeed,  was  as  capable  of  that  ethereal 
passion  as  my  father;  my  mother  could  no  more  be  in- 
spired by  it  than  the  pearl  which  is  that  oyster's  prize 
and  canker.  The  acquaintance,  however,  ripened.  Mr. 
Montagu  was  dry  as  tinder,  and  my  Lady  Mary  as  hot 
and  fiery  as  ducal  blood  longing  to  burst  forth  upon  the 
gabbling  town  in  a  gorgeous  equipage  could  make  her. 
As  mushrooms  grow  up  in  a  night,  so  did  the  all-powerful 
desire  of  cohesion  within  the  beating  hearts  of  this  ena- 
mored pair.  The  lady  longed  for  libert}'",  a  town  house, 
and  a  coach  and  six ;  the  gentleman  to  own  as  one  of  his 
appendages,  a  slave  in  the  shape  of  a  woman  who  had 
knowledge,  wit  and  talent,  and  could  write  a  whole  page 
without  violating  grammar  and  orthography.  So  scarce 
a  bird  was  then  an  ornithological  curiosity — and  we  know 
what  an  Englishman  will  give  for  a  rarity.  They  met, 
they  glanced,  they  talked  and  corresponded;  each  knew 
as  if  instinctively  that  real  love  had  nothing  to  do  with 
their  commerce,  yet  they  were  attracted  to  each  other  as 
the  amber  and  the  thread,  though  every  eye  could  see  how 
widely  the  two  differed.  Mr.  Montagu,  however,  with  all 
his  love,  was  no  fool ;  he  was  as  keen  as  a  fox  to  all  that 
affected  his  own  interest.  He  was  not  so  bewitched  by 
the  lady  as  to  be  blind  to  certain  imperfections  which 
disclosed  themselves  day  by  day;  but  he  was  one  who 
hated  to  have  a  desire  which  he  could  not  gratify.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  great  hardship  for  a  fine  gentleman  with  un« 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       27 

limited  wealth  not  to  be  able  to  do  what  he  likes ;  it  is 
one  of  the  bores  of  existence  which  Providence  ought  to 
amend — Mr.  Montagu  thought  so.  He  coolly  contem- 
plated his  condition,  his  mistress,  and  his  heart ;  he  sur- 
veyed them  as  an  anatomist  the  body  which  he  is  about 
to  dissect.  He  was  not  perfectly  satisfied  with  either, 
and  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  do.  The  lady  was  desir- 
able, but  settlements  were  stupid,  and  restraint  rather 
disagreeable.  But,  then — he  wanted  a  son  to  inherit  his 
enormous  wealth ;  if  it  was  to  go  anywhere,  it  were  best 
to  one  of  his  own  begetting ;  he  wanted  a  wife  to  rule  his 
house  and  servants,  who  cost  him  a  good  deal  of  trouble, 
and  to  give  him  also  a  little  personal  distinction ;  he  could 
scarcely  get  one  better  suited  for  these  worthy  objects 
than  the  Lady  Mary ;  he  wanted  something  to  fill  a  void 
in  his  heart  which  sometimes  made  itself  felt,  notwith- 
standing Addison's  parsonical  prate,  and  he  supposed  a 
wife  would  do  so.  He  was  doomed  to  disappointment  in 
all  these  three  wishes.  His  son  was  exiled  from  his  house, 
and  was  forbidden  to  be  the  recipient  of  his  treasures ;  he 
obtained  a  wife  whom  he  separated  from  in  a  brief  time, 
and  kept  at  a  most  respectful  distance  all  his  life,  who 
disgraced  herself  and  the  name  she  bore,  and  never  gave 
him  but  one  dajj's  pleasure ;  he  was  deprived  of  all  solid 
happiness  through  life,  he  lived  despised,  and  died  detested. 
His  wealth  went  to  the  child  of  a  villanous  Scotsman 
who  scorned  him,  and  who  was  himself  the  scorn  of  man- 
kind. 

A  sort  of  coy  flirtation  went  on  for  two  or  three  years 
between  this  accomplished  pair.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
Mrs.  Wortley,  the  sister,  died,  and  the  lady  began  to  write 
love-letters  to  the  brother.  These  epistles  I  have  seen. 
They  breathe  in  every  line  the  insincerity  of  the  writer; 
the  afiectation  of  one  who  desires  to  be  thought  that  which, 
she  is  not.     She  lavishes  praise  on  herself,  with  a  pro- 


28      EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

fusion  that  exhibits  the  most  eager  desire  to  persuade  her 
correspondent  that  she  is  all  that  can  make  him  happiest 
of  mortals.  As  Midas  changed  every  thing  into  gold  on 
which  he  laid  his  finger,  so  she  has  but  to  point  attention 
to  any  one  of  her  numerous  qualifications,  and  it  straight 
stands  forth  splendent  and  beautiful.  Other  women  are 
vain,  light,  frivolous,  deceitful;  they  love  equipages  and 
grandeur;  they  are  rebellious — shameful  things — against 
their  husband's  humors;  she  is  the  perfect  and  infallible 
female  destined  to  make  his  life  one  path  of  roses.  No- 
body was  ever  so  disinterested  a^  she  is.  She  is  all  heart, 
feeling,  purity  and  truth.  Her  notions  are  modest  to  a 
nicety.  She  extravagant !  Heaven  forefeud  the  thought ! 
She  can  be  content  with  love  in  the  smallest  cottage.  She 
a  lover  of  fine  clothes  and  gilt  coaches !  Oh  1  she  is  above 
all  such  nonsense.  Apartments,  table,  pin-money,  jewels, 
a  train  of  grinning  sIsa'cs  in  plush  are  things  that  never 
enter  into  her  head.  There  is  only  one  man  of  sense  on 
earth.  Him  she  loA'^es,  venerates,  adores.  Who  can  he 
be  ■?  The  receiver  of  the  letter  may,  perhaps,  faintlj'^  guess 
— ^but  she  will  never  name  him — no,  she  will  perish,  sooner 
than  divulge  her  passion.  Does  he  find  fault  with  her? 
Alasl  he  is  deceived.  He  has  entirely  mistaken  her 
character.  She  is  a  ready-made  angel.  But  if  she  has 
any  imperfections  there  is  one  man  who  can  mould  her  to 
his  way  of  thinking,  until  she  shall  outshine  the  Seraphim. 
What  a  mocking  imp  he  must  have  been  who  sat  and 
guided  her  pen  as  she  wrote  down  all  this  1  But  was  our 
ardent  lover  deceived  by  it?  I  scarcely  think  so.  He  had 
an  immense  fund  of  common  sense,  or  rather  that  dulness 
which  the  world  calls  by  that  title :  the  society  of  wits  in 
which  he  moved,  and  from  whose  light  he  deriA'ed  a  kind 
©f  borrowed  lustre,  had  opened  his  e3'^es  to  all  that  was 
jfround  him,  and  he  was  not  to  be  taken  in.  The  sim- 
plicity of  Arcadia  was  scarcely  then  prevalent  among  the 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      29 

shepherds  and  shepherdesses  of  Saint  James's,  though  in 
theory  at  least  it  was  much  admired.  My  father  was  an 
odd  compound — such  only  as  our  English  soil  produces. 
For  there  are  no  people  so  eccentric  as  we  are,  with  all  our 
boasted  solidity.  The  maddest  things  that  have  been 
done  have  been  perpetrated  by  Englishmen.  Need  I  men- 
tion Rochester,  or  Peterborough,  or  Wharton,  in  proof  of 
what  I  say  ?  Need  I  go  over  the  scandalous  chronicles  of 
our  insanity  in  love  and  war  and  gambling  and  domestic 
polity  ?  This  odd  jumble  of  characters  it  was  which  made 
Mr.  Montagu  love  and  scorn  Lady  Mary^  almost  in  the 
same  instant,  and  loathe  himself  for  not  being  able  to 
emerge  from  her  fetters.  He  labored  hard  to  do  so,  but 
he  failed.  The  fact  is,  she  made  up  her  mind  to  fascinate 
him,  and  she  succeeded.  He  was  not  Ulysses  enough  to 
escape  her  spells,  though  he  sailed  before  her  with  all  the 
caution  of  the  Prince  of  Ithaca.  The  Siren,  however,  pre- 
vailed over  the  wise  man,  and  he  was  shipwrecked  and 
drowned. 

There  were  two  things  which  Mr.  Edward  Wortley 
Montagu  loved  with  a  devotion  that  never  slept.  The 
first  was  his  own  dear  self;  the  second  was  his  own  dar- 
ling money.  These  two  idols  formed  to  him  the  whole 
universe.  The  sun  miglit  shine,  and  the  seasons  might 
revolve,  and  the  heavens  might  speak  in  tones  of  thunder, 
and  flash  in  rays  of  lightning  the  wonders  of  the  Supreme 
One,  but  all  such  objects  were  trivial  and  contemptible  in 
the  eyes  and  ears  and  thoughts  of  this  distinguished  man, 
as  contrasted  with  the  two  main  splendors  of  the  earth, 
himself  and  his  money,  his  money  and  himself.  He  had 
once  told  Addison,  who  wrote  him  a  kind  of  half-begging 
letter,  complaining  of  the  loss  of  his  place  and  of  his  estate, 
that  he  himself  "had  once  lived  for  six  months  on  fifty 
pounds  as  pleasantly  as  ever  he  did  in  his  life,  and  could 
have  lived  for  less  than  half  that  sum,  entertaining  himself 


so      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

with  the  speech  of  Ofellus  in  the  second  satire  of  the  second 
book;" — an  observation  which  coming  from  a  man  who 
could  command  the  greatest  wealth  of  any  commoner  then 
living,  lets  a  whole  flood  of  light  in  upon  his  true  nature, 
and  was  as  cool  a  mode  of  politely  refusing  by  anticipa- 
tion, that  which  he  supposed  his  friend  needed,  as  even 
Chesterfield  himself  would  have  applauded. 

This  intense  love  of  money  in  so  young  a  man  became 
in  time  so  absorbing  that  it  swallowed  up  all  minor  pas- 
sions, and  the  richest  personage  in  England  became  the 
most  greed}^,  covetous  and  mean ;  guarding  his  gold  as  if 
it  were  his  heart's  blood,  and  hating  to  think  that  any  one 
should  ever  possess  that  which  he  valued  above  all  earthly 
or  even  heavenly  things.  But  why  name  heavenly,  when 
it  was  a  word  expressing  an  idea  that  he  knew  not  ?  Yet 
these  two  intense  passions  became  for  a  period  subordinate 
to  a  third,  and  that  was  a  longing  desire  for  Lady  Mary, 
which  possessed  him  night  and  day,  and  which,  although 
he  wrestled  stoutly  against  it,  conquered  him  in  the  end. 
But  his  liking  was  short-lived.  The  temporary  appetite 
disappeared  forever  like  a  dream,  and  his  true  nature  re- 
asserted dominion. 

Pope,  who  was  I  think  the  dirtiest  little  dwarf  of  a 
varlet  that  ever  hopped  upon  the  earth,  has  drawn  a  por- 
trait of  Mr.  Montagu  and  his  wife,  as  they  became  devel- 
oped in  after  years,  when  the  ruling  passion  of  both  was  in 
the  ascendant,  when  even  the  pretence  of  liking  would 
have  sounded  too  absurd  for  either  to  make  it,  and  all 
their  bliss  was  placed  in  cursing  me,  and  inwardly  loath- 
ing each  other  as  a  pair  of  fiends. 

**Avldlen  or  his  wife,  no  matter  which, 
For  him  you'll  call  a  dog  and  her — 
Sell  their  presented  partridges  and  frnitB 
And  humbly  live  on  rabbits  and  on  roots. 
One  half-pint  bottle  serves  them  both  to  dino, 
And  Is  at  once  their  vincyar  and  wine. 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      31 

But  on  gome  lucky  day — as  when  they  found 

A  lost  bank  bill,  or  heard  thoir  son  was  drowned— 

At  such  a  feast  old  vinegar  to  spare 

Is  what  two  souls  so  generous  cannot  boar : 

Oil  though  It  stunk,  they  drop  by  drop  impart, 

But  sowse  the  cabbage  with  a  bounteous  heart.'* 

This  giant  avarice  when  my  father  courted  my  mother 
was  not  yet  fully  grown.  It  was  only  in  its  cradle,  but  it 
was  even  then  a  youthful  Hercules.  Accordingly  when 
the  languishing  lover  waited  on  the  Duke  of  Kingston  to 
solicit  the  fair  hand  of  Lady  Mary,  that  illustrious  peer 
put  one  or  two  inconvenient  questions  to  our  Leander 
which  disgusted  all  the  Cupid  in  his  heart.  He  was  his 
father's  sole  surviving  son ;  the  immense  property  of  the 
unhappy  heiress  of  the  Wortley's,  who  had  given  herself 
and  her  dominions  up  to  the  debauched  old  ogre  with  the 
flapped  hat,  was  so  strictly  settled  on  the  issue  male,  that 
by  no  possibility  could  the  aforesaid  ogre,  though  very 
much  inclined,  dispose  of  any  portion  of  it  as  he  wished. 

My  lord  Marquis — he  was  not  made  a  duke  till  three  or 
four  years  afterwards — accordingly  began  to  stipulate  that 
if  the  snowy  hand — he  did  not  mention  the  icy  heart — of 
his  beloved  daughter  Mary,  who  would  be  a  treasure  to  a 
prince,  was  made  over  to  the  eager  suitor,  all  the  property 
of  the  Wortleys  and  Montagus  combined  should  be  settled 
on  the  heir  male  of  the  happy  union.  This  was  the  stern 
condition  alone  on  which  this  loving  parent  would  consent 
to  be  separated  from  a  beloved  child,  the  idol  of  his  heart 
and  home.  But  this  condition  by  no  means  suited  Mr. 
Edward  Wortley  Montagu.  It  seemed  hard  enough  to 
him ;  he  forgot  at  the  moment  the  splendid  prize  he  was 
soliciting.  To  part  with  his  dearly  beloved  treasure,  even 
in  tliought,  was  torture  greater  than  any  that  the  Inquisi- 
tion had  devised.  Could  it  be  recompensed  by  the  posses- 
sion of  a  few  score  pounds  of  human  flesh  and  blood,  even 
though  both  were  highly  noble  ?   The  matter  was  doubtful ; 


32  EDWARD    WOR'TLEY    MONTAGU. 

he  rather  thought  it  an  unfair  proposal.  He  could  not 
endure  to  dwell  on  the  fancy  that  his  gold,  the  lord  god 
of  his  whole  nature,  should  ever  pass  out  of  his  grasp, 
even  on  parchment,  much  less  could  he  bear  the  sight  of 
one,  who  though  already  not  in  being,  (I  mean  my  worthy 
self,)  would  probably  arise  at  some  future  day,  and  long 
for  his  death,  as  ardently  as  he  now  longed  for  the  disso- 
lution of  the  cruel  old  cannibal  who  had  made  his  wife's 
Existence  a  living  heU  upon  earth,  and  who  hated  his  son 
and  heir  expectant  with  all  the  virulence  of  a  Montagu. 

The  lover  offered  any  reasonable  amount  of  settlement 
upon  the  lady  herself,  for  whom  he  had  a  sort  of  epicure's 
liking,  or  a  museum  maker's  desire,  but  positively  refused 
to  endow  his  future  offspring  with  a  penny. 

A  fiery  scene  occurred.  That  the  noble  grandchild  of  a 
Pierrepoint  should  be  left  to  the  caprice  of  a  Montagu, 
was  not  to  be  listened  to.  The  very  suggestion  was  an 
insult,  a  degradation,  a  blow,  and  the  father  and  future 
Bon-in-law  parted  with  the  most  hearty  hatred  of  each 
other,  which,  like  most  hatreds,  went  with  them  imex- 
tinguished  to  the  grave  and  worms. 

Now  came  my  lord's  turn.  He  had  long  considered 
Lady  Mary  as  a  bore  and  spy  upon  his  actions.  He 
shunned  her  eye  and  feared  her  tongue,  and  dreaded  her 
letter  writing.  She  was  too  big  to  be  a  toy ;  she  was  too 
clever  to  be  eluded  by  a  fine  gentleman  who  even  still - 
followed  his  gallantries ;  she  was,  worst  of  all,  too  old  to 
be  agreeable  to  the  presence  of  a  man  who  was  as  yet  in 
his  prime,  and  had  no  particular  fancy  for  parading  him- 
self as  some  score  of  years  more  ancient  than  he  looked, 
as  the  parent  of  grown-up  children  must  ever,  it  is  to  be 
regretted,  be  forced  to  appear.  He  had,  besides,  another 
spouse  in  view  for  himself,  whom,  indeed,  he  soon  wedded 
— Lady  Belle  Bentinck,  the  youngest  daugliter  of  King 
William's   Earl  of  Portland.     The  Minister,  too,  urged 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  33 

him  to  make  a  profitable  investment  by  means  of  his 
daughter;  and  offended  pride  and  awakened  hatred  stimu- 
lated him  on  to  snatch  this  golden  apple  from  the  enrap- 
tured Mr.  Montagu. 

He  lost  no  time,  therefore,  in  patching  up  a  contract 
with  that  illustrious  peer  of  whom  I  have  already  made 
honorable  mention,  and  as  he  never  anticipated  opposition, 
his  rage  at  the  disappointment  of  his  hopes  when  my 
mother  eloped  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  described. 

Which  of  the  parties  gained  on  the  whole  by  the  pro- 
ceeding would  be  a  curious  inquiry.  I  rather  think  it  was 
my  grandfather,  for  he  got  the  dukedom. 

The  disappointed  peer  did  not  complain  much ;  he  died 
soon  after,  to  the  great  joy  of  his  heir. 

Mr.  Montagu  succeeded  in  his  wish — a  wife  without  a 
settlement — ^but  soon  got  sick  of  his  toy,  and  panted  in 
vain  for  single-blessedness.  The  devil  gave  him  wealth, 
but  would  not  make  him  a  widower — a  very  uncivil  thing 
to  do ;  but  such  things  will  happen.  ^ 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  12th  of  August,  It  12,  was  a  day  memorable  for 
many  things,  not  the  least  of  which  was  my  mother's  mar- 
riage. She  came  to  her  husband,  as  she  said  herself,  with 
only  "  a  night-gown  and  a  petticoat,"  and  she  was  probably 
agreeable  enough  for  a  few  moments  in  these  habiliments, 
but  I  never  could  discover  that  his  passion  survived  the 
first  four-and-twenty  hours  of  their  union. 

In  a  month  or  two  he  sent  her  to  a  remote  part  of  the 
country,  while  he  himself  wandered  about  to  various  places, 
now  saying  that  he  was  electioneering,  now  engaged  in 


34  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

visiting  friends,  who  were  to  interfere  between  the  two 
rival  and  angry  fathers-in-law,  now  amusing  himself  in 
Loudon,  where  he  received  his  letters  at  Jacob  Tonson's, 
opposite  Catharine  street,  in  the  Strand,  now  advertising 
for  mortgages  and  young  spendthrift  heirs,  who  paid  exor- 
bitant interest  for  ready  money.  Never  did  any  man  more 
suddenly  get  cured  than  he  did.  But  what  discovery  had 
he  made  that  so  suddenly  sickened  him  of  his  fair  bride  ? 
What  damning  fact  transpired  that  put  his  love  to  flight 
in  the  hymeneal  hour  ?  Had  my  lady — ?  But  no ;  these 
things  can  be  only  matter  of  guess.  Nor  is  it  for  me  to 
search  too  deeply  into  this  abstruse  inquiry.  Certain  it  is 
that  he  would  have  given  a  large  sum  to  be  free  again. 
He  left  her,  and  with  ill-concealed  scorn.  She,  meanwhile, 
boxed  up  somewhere  in  the  country,  far  remote  from  civ- 
ilization, and  the  squares  in  which  she  had  so  longed  to 
glitter,  sent  him  every  day  the  most  bitter  complaints  of 
headache,  spleen,  and  want  of  sleep.  But  he  treated  all 
such  nonsense  with  contempt,  or  with  that  fine  stoicism 
which  Addison,  who  consoled  himself  over  a  bottle  for  his 
own  domestic  mishaps  with  Lady  Warwick,  had  taught 
him,  and  which  he  now  for  the  first  time  felt  that  he  could 
practise.  He  did  not  condescend  to  write  even  a  single 
line,  nor  send  one  consoling  message,  though  her  peevish- 
ness increased,  her  melancholy  augmented,  and  her  letters 
grew  more  frequent.  I  was  born,  but  even  this  made  no 
change.  The  result,  as  might  have  been  expected,  was 
this — Lady  Mary  hated  her  husband,  and  cared  very  little 
what  she  did  out  of  malice  or  revenge. 

My  father's  cousin,  Charles  Montagu,  having  some  time 
before  this  been  made  Earl  of  Halifax,  Knight  of  the 
Garter — that  sure  badge  of  virtue  and  nobleness — and  first 
Lord  of  the  Treasur}^,  our  family  star  was  at  its  zenith, 
and  my  father  wan  made  one  of  the  Lords  Commissioners. 
On  the  Earl's  death  and  Walpole's  succession,  the  embassy 


EDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU.  35 

to  Constantinople  was  given  to  Mr.  Montagu,  as  a  special 
token  of  courtly  approbation,  or,  as  some  said,  a  courtly 
mode  of  banishment.  I  don't  know  why  he  selected  it,  if 
indeed  it  was  his  own  choice  at  all.  A  gentleman  less 
imbued  with  orientalism  never  lived.  But  like  his  mad 
marriage,  it  was  probably  one  of  his  eccentric  crotch- 
ets, and  he  resolved  to  indulge  it.  The  jewelled  East 
perhaps  had  charms  for  his  golden  thirst.  Could  he  have 
left  his  wife  behind  I  have  no  doubt  he  would ;  why  he 
did  not  I  can  scarcely  tell.  I  suppose  there  were  reasons — 
there  always  are.  I  wish  he  had,  though  I  suppose  that 
as  accidents  will  arise  in  the  best-regulated  families,  and 
with  the  best-conducted  footmen,  the  same  mishap  which 
befel  her  afterwards  in  the  royal  seraglio  would  have  hap- 
pened had  she  been  left  alone  in  England. 

We  packed  up  our  baggage  and  departed.  This  was  in 
1T16,  when  I  was  not  three  years  old.  Of  our  adventures 
on  the  road  and  during  our  stay  in  Stamboul,  I  can,  of 
course,  personally  know  nothing,  nor  do  I  indeed  know 
very  much  more  than  all  the  readers  of  Lady  Mary's 
letters.  Whatever  will  bear  publication  appears  there ;  all 
that  will  not  bear  it  is  penned,  I  suppose,  in  another  book, 
and  will  be  read  out  in  thunders  on  the  last  day — if  such  a 
horrid  event  should  ever  happen.  It  will  be  rather  a  start- 
ling investigation  into  the  high-bred  secrets  of  high-bred 
sinners. 

My  lady  corresponded  during  the  whole  period  with 
Walpole's  mistress.  Poll  Skerrett ; — received  the  most  dis- 
graceful love-letters  from  Mr.  Pope;  sneered  at  the  ugly 
Austrian  dames  in  paint  and  whalebone  petticoats ;  had 
an  offer  made  to  her  of  his  heart  and  person  during  her 
stay  in  Vienna  by  a  young  Count  Somebody,  which  she 
protested  she  refused,  poor  Mr.  Wortley  having  been  con- 
sulted by  neither  in  this  little  arrangement,  and  finally 
visited  the  seraglio  of  the  Sultan. 


36       EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

The  Ambassador  was  recalled  in  IT  It,  but  out  of  snllcn- 
ness  or  fear  of  scandal  and  the  tongue  of  the  wits,  his  dear 
friends,  or  some  other  eccentric  English  crotcliet,  he  did 
not  come  back  until  1118,  when  he  probably  thouglit  my 
lady's  folly  had  been  forgotten  in  the  five  hundred  similar 
ones  that  had.  happened  in  the  interval.  They  were  imme- 
diately surrounded  by  a  gang  of  flatterers,  knaves,  autliors, 
and  fine  ladies — corpses  covered  with  pearls — who  then 
constituted  the  finest  ornament  of  fashionable  society. 
Among  these  choice  and  faithful  friends,  two  in  particular 
distinguished  themselves,  Pope  and  Congreve ;  the  former 
laboring  with  all  his  might  to  seduce  my  mother  by  liis 
artful  tongue,  as  he  had  previously  laid  the  basis  for  it  hy 
his  flattering  pen;  and  the  latter  aiding  him  to  corrupt 
her  mind  still  more  than  it  previously  had  been  b}'  her 
association  with  bishops,  courtiers,  and  courtesans. 

What  fine  people  there  were  in  those  days,  and  how  my 
heart  swells  as  I  think  of  them  and  their  by-gone  splendors ! 
Providence,  I  suppose,  had  scarcely  ever  before  collected  a 
greater  number  of  worthless  villians,  harridans,  and  scoun- 
drels, without  hanging  or  transporting  more  than  three- 
fourths  of  them.  The  best  deserved  to  be  broken  on  the 
wheel.  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Normandy, 
commonly  called  John  of  Bucks,  was  at  their  head ;  an 
atheist,  full  of  the  notions  of  Hobbes ;  a  libertine,  stuffed 
with  the  principles  of  Rochester ;  a  cheat  in  every  thing 
where  money  was  concerned.  Prior,  vain,  sensual,  sordid 
in  his  intrigues,  may  be  said  to  have  brought  up  the  tail. 
Congreve,  conceited,  worthless,  and  selfish,  utterly  profli- 
gate in  his  private  life,  and  so  great  a  braggart,  that 
scarcely  any  thing  he  said  could  be  credited ;  Addison,  a 
crawling  sycophant,  full  of  envy  and  spleen ;  frantic  when 
a  friend  prospered ;  happy  only  when  misfortune  lighted 
on  his  associates ;  a  hypocrite  who  would  take  you  by  the 
hand,  and  if  he  heard  you  utter  a  sentiment  which  in  his 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      87 

heart  he  knew  to  be  erroneous,  would  labor  to  confirm  you 
in  it  with  all  his  zeal,  rejoicing  in  your  inexperience,  as 
Satan  might  exult  over  the  fall  of  a  young  novice.  Pope, 
who  was  all  malice,  hatred,  and  uncharitableness ;  false  as 
a  Jesuit,  fickle  as  a  fool,  and  mercenary  as  a  waiting- woman. 
The  Duke  of  Wharton,  now  in  the  full  glory  of  his  profli- 
gacy, at  the  head  of  his  club  called  "  Schemers,"  who  openly 
avowed  that  the  ruin  of  women  constituted  the  sole  tie 
that  bound  them  together,  and  who  for  that  reason  alone 
were  sought  after,  caressed,  and  hunted  by  all  the  silly 
simiiletons  in  town.  Garth,  whose  entire  discourse  was 
dissolute  as  his  manners  were  profligate,  and  who  laughed 
at  all  religion  as  a  sham ;  Kneller,  gross  and  vain ;  Cooper, 
afterwards  Lord  Chancellor,  a  minister  of  the  law  and  a 
keeper  of  the  king's  conscience,  who  set  the  statutes 
against  bigamy  at  defiance,  and  was  only  liable  to  death 
for  felony  on  the  prosecution  of  any  one  who  could  bring 
home  the  well-known  charge.  Townsend,  the  brother-in- 
law  of  Walpole,  and  his  brazen  countess — immortalized  to 
infamy  by  my  cousin  Fielding,  as  Lady  Bellaston  in  Tom 
Jones — with  Sunderland,  the  knave,  and  Craggs,  the  stock- 
jobber, who  died  just  in  time  to  escape  the  universal  infamy 
which  fell  upon  all  connected  with  the  South  Sea  swindle. 
But  why  go  through  this  Newgate  Calendar,  or  enumerate 
the  twelve  tribes  of  villain  statesmen  and  loathsome  rakes, 
with  Walpole  for  their  Alpha  and  Omega,  with  whom  my 
lady  was  brought  perpetually  into  contact?  Why  follow 
her  to  the  Prince's,  where  she  sought  to  ingratiate  herself 
with  the  heir  apparent;  and  when  that  failed,  why  pursue 
her  to  the  court,  where  she  herself  became  half  domesticated 
with  Schulenberg  and  Kilmansegg,  and  Platen,  horrible 
queans,  who  would  not  have  been  endured  in  any  decent 
company,  but  for  the  protection  of  the  hideous  old  sover- 
eign ?  A  more  detestable  academy  for  a  young  wife  to 
enter  cannot  be  imagined.     It  set  the  final  seal  on  my 

428827 


88      EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

mother's  principles  and  ruined  her,  and  what  might  before 
have  been  accidental  was  now  confirmed  vice. 

I  have  drawn  a  pleasing  picture  of  aristocratic  life  in 
England  sixty  years  ago.  The  colors  are  sombre,  the  tints 
are  dark,  it  must  be  owned ;  but  I  write  with  the  pencil 
of  historic  truth.  I  have  shown  the  inside  of  these  men 
whom  biographers,  essayists,  and  historians  will  doubtless 
paint  with  shining  colors,  bringing  out  all  their  prominent 
virtues  with  fine  gold,  and  covering  the  gorgeous  canvas 
with  glaze  and  varnish,  and  many  a  parting  touch  of  purest 
light.  I  shall  be  called  a  misanthropist.  "Well !  I  do  hate 
mankind,  but  it  is  mankind  constituted  of  rogues  and 
rascals.  I  shall  be  denounced  as  a  satirist.  There  is  no 
reproach  in  the  title.  Far  more  disgraceful,  it  seems  to 
me,  to  be  like  Burnet,  the  panegyrist  of  vice  and  corrupt 
power,  than  the  dread  anatomist  of  its  horrors. 

England,  at  the  period  of  which  I  now  write,  was  the  ape 
of  France,  and  as  almost  every  crime  which  Juvenal  enu- 
merates, or  Suetonius  describes,  or  man  imagines,  was  prac- 
tised with  open  impunity  by  the  Gauls,  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  in  our  own  country  also — ever  its  servile  imitator — 
it  was  thought  unfashionable  to  be  decent,  and  good  breed- 
ing to  be  impious.  Here  was  a  young  woman,  who  might 
even  yet  have  been  virtuous,  and  certainly  was  fascinating, 
flung  into  a  whirlpool  from  which  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  escape,  while  those — ^her  superiors  in  3'ears  or  judgment — 
who  might  have  lent  her  a  helping  hand  out  of  it,  only 
Bought  to  thrust  her  deeper  downwards  into  the  abyss. 


EDWABD     WOBILET     MONTAaU.  89 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Need  I  describe  our  grand  house  in  Cavendish  Square  ? 
We  had  a  drawing-room  and  a  library  and  a  billiard-room ; 
a  public  dining-room  and  a  private  dining-room,  and  a 
picture  gallery,  and  a  red  saloon,  and  a  breakfast-room, 
and  a  blue  chamber,  and  I  know  not  how  many  writing- 
closets  and  ante-rooms,  and  other  fine  places,  all  of  which, 
however,  looked  grim  and  desolate,  and  dirty  enough — 
vast  Saharas  in  the  heart  of  London.  Wherever  you 
glanced  there  were  family  portraits,  hard-faced  men  in 
periwigs,  and  brazen-eyed  men  in  helmets  and  shining 
breast-plates,  and  some  in  ruffs  and  scarfs  and  doublets, 
and  horrid  monsters  in  China,  and  blue  jars  like  those  that 
hid  the  band  of  robbers  in  Ali-Baba,  and  huge  fire-places 
in  which  a  fire  was  never  lighted,  and  great  sconces  in  which 
candles  were  never  lit,  and  vast  mirrors  in  which  a  smiling, 
happy  countenance  was  never  seen.  Mould  and  mustiness 
and  solitude  combined  to  make  the  home  a  horror.  For 
this  mansion  was  in  truth  the  chosen  abode  of  Misery  in 
the  august  person  of  my  honored  father,  and  if  I  were 
writing  an  allegorical  poem  like  Ovid,  I  might  describe  it 
with  many  poetical  particulars,  which,  as  I  am  neither 
a  Naso  nor  a  Spenser,  are  thus  forever  lost  to  the  world. 
The  servants  were  wretched  scarecrows,  as  tall  and  thin  as 
the  poor  apothecary  in  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  the  blinds  were 
usually  undrawn,  so  that  a  dim,  cavernous  twilight  per- 
vaded the  whole  house ;  there  was  not  even  the  song  of  a 
bird,  the  friendly  footstep  of  a  dog,  or  the  comfortable 
mew  of  a  cat  heard  in  this  great,  silent  labyrinth,  for  our 
ex-Lord  of  the  Treasury  was  too  prudent  to  invest  money 
or  to  squander  it  in  such  idle,  vain  accessories  as  these.  I 
only  wonder  that  he  did  not  scrape  the  gold  off  the  frames 
and  sell  all  the  Indian  monkeys  for  whatever  they  would 


40      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU. 

fetch,  for  I  know  he  hated  to  look  at  their  distorted  fea- 
tures. I  suppose  he  would  have  done  so  if  he  dared,  but 
my  lady,  though  as  musical  as  any  nightingale  of  Parnas- 
sus, had  a  tongue — and  when  she  did  speak,  she  could  make 
its  music  ring  like  the  baying  of  a  jjack  in  full  cry.  Yet 
why  should  she  not  ?  Were  not  female  tongues  formed  for 
this  purpose  ? 

How  well  I  can  remember  the  feeling  with  which  I  used 
to  steal  about  the  great  staircases,  in  the  wretched  twilight, 
half  afraid  of  the  ugly,  black,  begrimed  male  savages  on 
canvas,  who  glowered  like  ogres  of  the  olden  time  out  of 
the  dusky  corners — Calibans  and  demons  to  my  young 
imagination.  Sometimes  I  stopped  and  contemplated  the 
female  portraits,  as  if  I  could  receive  from  them  that  sweet 
music  of  sj^mpathy  for  which  my  heart  so  ardently  longed. 
I  have  gone  up  to  them  when  I  was  unobserved,  and  kissed 
their  cold  red  lips,  and  wondered  why  they  did  not  open 
their  arms  to  me,  and  why  their  ej'es  were  still  and  lifeless, 
when  mine  flashed  with  tears,  and  my  heart  leaped  within 
me  for  a  kindred  heart.  But  there  they  were,  as  impassive 
as  death  itself.  Then  I  would  retreat  into  a  corner,  and 
cry  like  a  fool,  and  wonder  were  all  other  boys  as  unhappy 
and  lonely  and  uncared  for  as  myself,  and  were  all  other 
fathers  and  mothers  such  stocks  and  stones  as  mine  ap- 
peared to  be.  There  was  not  a  single  creature  in  the  whole 
house  with  one  human  sympathy;  for  whom  I  cared,  or 
who  cared  for  me,  except  indeed  a  black  named  Jupiter,  who 
often  comforted  me  when  he  saw  me  weeping,  and  in  his 
own  wild  way  made  we  weep  more  still,  for  I  knew  that  he 
pitied  me,  and  this  caused  my  tears  to  flow  forth  afresh. 
During  my  whole  boyhood,  or  at  least  as  much  of  it  as  I 
passed  in  this  catacomb,  I  never  remember  to  have  heard 
an  honest,  hearty  burst  of  laughter,  or  one  merry  song  from 
the  lips  of  our  domestics.  A  cold  chain  of  depression 
seemed  to  be  thrown  over  the  spirits  of  all;  they  went 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      41 

through  their  work  like  automata.  Perpetual  silence 
reigned.  My  father,  glum,  gloomy,  taciturn  as  a  marble 
statue,  chilled  every  one  into  torpidity ;  my  mother  did  not 
dare  to  let  her  natural  spirits  flow  forth,  but  curbed  them 
until  she  visited  abroad,  when  they  ran  loose,  and,  I  fear, 
turbid.  And  every  night  we  had  prayers — ^but  here  I  must 
stop.  The  recollection  of  this  dreary  farce,  for  such  it  was, 
makes  me  perfectly  sick  at  heart. 

What  wretched  things  our  breakfasts  were !  My  father 
sat  with  a  pile  of  papers  beside  him,  over  which  he  was 
busily  engaged.  There  were  mortgages,  leases,  bills,  and 
bonds,  and  promissory  notes,  and  all  sorts  of  securities  for 
money,  wherein  he  held  imprisoned  the  souls  of  debtors ; 
noble  lords  and  mighty  commoners.  These  he  contemplated 
with  his  pale  eyes  and  yellow  smile,  as  God  might  contem- 
plate a  Paradise  filled  with  beautiful,  happy  spirits.  They 
were  his  all;  his  world,  his  belief,  his  faith,  his  life,  his 
religion.  The  stout  oak  boxes  in  which  they  were  secured 
by  double  and  treble  locks  were  duly  opened ;  the  rich 
securities  for  gold  that  increased  itself  twenty-fold  as  every 
3'ear  revolved,  were  drawn  forth  and  contemplated  with  an 
ever  new  feeling  of  delight;  gorgeous  visions  of  money, 
money,  monej',  arose  in  the  mind  of  the  covetous  man; 
and  he  seemed  like  Jupiter  seated  on  Olympus,  and  revel- 
ling in  the  consciousness  of  strength  and  power.  Lady 
Mary  sat  opposite,  and  served  him  with  his  chocolate, 
herself  as  silent  as  her  lord ;  dreaming,  I  suppose,  of  new 
conquests  or  new  lampoons.  Between  them  was  the  writer 
of  this,  scarcely  daring  to  lift  up  his  eyes.  To  intrude 
upon  this  awful  silence  would  be  like  the  crime  of  him  of 
old,  who  broke  in  upon  the  Sacred  Mysteries,  and  was  torn 
in  pieces  for  his  pains.  The  bleeding  features  of  Medusa 
had  not  a  more  freezing  effect  than  my  father's  presence ; 
if,  like  Midas,  all  that  he  touched  was  changed  into  gold, 
like  the  head  of  the  Gorgon,  all  that  he  looked  at  was 


42      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

petrified  into  cold  stone.  Yet  all  this  exquisite  rapture 
about  his  money  and  its  quick  increase  was  not  without 
certain  drawbacks.  Truly  did  the  wise  Saxon  of  old  say, 
no  joy  without  alloy — a  sentiment  for  which  I  can  scarcely 
suppose  that  he  travelled  to  pagan  Rome  to  steal  it,  though 
the  sage  Lucretius  delivers  it  to  us  in  other  and  more 
poetical  language  when  he  says  that  "  even  out  of  the  midst 
of  pleasure's  fountain,  something  bitter  will  arise."  This 
you,  my  dear  sir,  have  probably  yourself  experienced,  and 
why  should  not  our  Saxon  ancestors  ?  Nor  do  I  suppose 
that  there  lives  a  single  man  at  this  moment  whose  own 
heart  has  not  taught  it  to  him  as  a  sad  truth.  I  know, 
indeed,  that  Miss  Jones  felt  it,  when  she  gave  herself,  sweet 
pretty  cherub,  and  sixtj'  thousand  pounds  to  Saltash  of  the 
household  troops,  and  found  in  a  little  time  that  the  fasci- 
nating young  Phoebus,  who  had  appeared  to  her  dazzled 
imagination  something  only  just  beneath  an  angel  of 
heaven,  was  a  heavy,  stupid,  sottish,  self-loving  fool,  who 
cared  for  nothing  on  earth  but  stuffing  his  own  paunch, 
and  perfuming  his  own  hair,  and  curling  his  big  whiskers, 
and  making  love  to  all  the  silly  nursery  maids  he  met. 
And  I  know  also  that  Lord  John  Apollo,  who  flew  into  the 
country,  disgusted  with  Mayfair  beauty,  and  sought  in  a 
sequestered  hamlet  in  Shropshire  for  youth,  innocence,  and 
virgin  purity,  and  found  it,  as  he  thouglit,  under  a  very 
plain  cottage  roof,  was  rather  amazed  in  a  few  months  to 
discover  that  his  sweet  Amanda,  who  had  appeared  the 
most  fairy-like,  amiable,  and  artless  of  all  rustic  njTnphs, 
was  as  cold,  vain,  selfish,  tricky,  and  false  hearted  as  the 
finest  fashionable  siren  on  the  town.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  the  Honorable  Edward  Wortley  Montagu  was  not 
exemjit  from  trials,  and  felt,  like  Alexander  the  Great,  that 
he  was  but  a  mortal  man,  after  all. 

And  he  had  them.     Such  trials ! — alas  I  that  it  should 
be  said  of  the  owner  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  per  annum. 


EDWARD     WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  43 

If  rich,  miserly  men  had  only  money  to  receive,  what  a 
splendid  sphere  this  earth  would  be  for  theml  But,  ah 
me !  in  this  world  we  not  only  get,  but  we  have  to  give 
money.  This  is  the  bitter  pill — ^the  poison  in  our  golden 
cup. 

My  father's  life  journey,  therefore,  was  by  no  means 
amid  roses — there  were  several  nasty  thorns  in  his  path, 
which  bored  him  immensely.  Had  he  been  single,  he  would 
have  been  all  right.  He  could  have  passed  all  his  days 
with  Addison  or  Congreve,  at  Wills'  or  Button's ;  and  all 
his  nights  with  Steele  at  the  theatre,  for  which  he  could 
have  got  a  free  admission.  But  he  had  a  wife,  unhappy 
man  1  with  a  thousand  grasping  wants,  passions,  feelings, 
emotions,  pleasures,  that  must  be  gratified,  or  if  they  were 
not,  why  then  the  world  must  come  to  an  end,  and  where 
would  he  be  ?  For  my  lady  never  forgot  that  she  was  a 
duke's  daughter,  and  though  that  was  to  some  extent  a 
feather  in  his  cap,  yet  did  it  entail  further  and  greater 
expenses  than  if  she  had  been  the  child  of  a  simple  com- 
moner, a  poor  unknown  devil,  whom  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jacob 
would  despise.  As  a  bachelor,  a  pleasant  suit  of  chambers 
would  have  suited  him  admirably ;  a  slight  flirtation  with 
one  of  Oibber's  actresses,  that  would  not  have  cost  very 
much,  would  have  sufficed  when  he  was  melancholy ;  but  as 
a  husband  and  father,  an  equipage,  servants,  an  imposing 
mansion,  and  all  the  other  expensive  appendages  of  his 
position  were  absolutely  needed,  and  sorely  did  they  all 
grate  against  his  p]\ilosophy.  However,  as  he  had  com- 
mitted the  egregious  folly  of  marriage,  and  as  he  was 
bothei-ed  with  these  abominable  consequences  incident  to 
it,  he  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  his  position,  and  to 
pinch,  starve,  screw,  and  save  in  every  conceivable  way,  so 
tlmt  he  might  make  the  greatest  appearance  with  the  least 
possible  expense.  And  it  was  this  pinching,  starving, 
screwing,  and  saving  which  made  the  rich  man's  life  as 


44  EDWARD     WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

wretched  as  a  toad's  in  a  hole — nay,  probably  more  so,  for 
I  believe  the  toad  is  content,  but  Mr.  Edward  Wortley 
Montagu,  senior,  was  not  content.  He  had  great  moments 
of  joy,  indeed,  and  those  were  when  he  received  monej'^, 
which  he  got  in  bundles  and  bundles ;  but  to  make  up  for 
these  Elysian  moments,  there  were  others  of  great  nnhap- 
piness,  and  these  were  when  he  had  to  disburse  small 
portions  of  these  very  bundles  in  the  payment  of  his  just 
debts. 

"  Madam,"  he  would  say,  "  here  is  another  milliner's  bill 
— am  I  never  to  have  done  with  paying  for  j^our  cursed 
folly  and  extravagance?  The  last  was — let  me  see — not 
two  months  ago,  and  I  had  then  to  pay  one  hundred  and 
twentj'-nine  pounds  three  shillings  and  fourpence.  Hei*e 
is  one  to-day  in  which  I  find  seventeen  pounds  charged 
for  a  ball  dress,  and  six  pounds  ten  for  one  of  those  silly 
turbans  that  make  you  look  so  hideous.  Then  I  paid 
Flash,  the  Jew  crayon  painter,  fourteen  pounds  for  a  very 
ugly  likeness  of  yourself,  drawn,  I  think,  when  j^ou  had 
the  jaundice ;  and  Flimsy,  the  toy  man,  sixty-seven  pounds 
for  some  frippery,  which  I  suppose  j-ou  think  sets  you  off 
like  a  sovereign  queen.  Then,  madam,  you  have  a  dentist 
— ^though  I  don't  know  what  for,  as  he  cannot  preserve  your 
teeth — and  a  doctor,  and  an  apothecary,  and  a  nurse,  and 
a  shoemaker,  and  a  hosier,  and  a  seamstress  who  never 
seems  to  have  done  with  mending  and  making,  and  a 
plumasier — though  what  j^ou  want  with  the  peacock's 
feathers  except  to  cover  over  your  jackdaw  appearance,  I 
know  not — and  a  glover ;  fifteen  pounds  four  in  one  quarter 
of  a  year  for  gloves,  and  a  perfumer,  (I  don't  think  cos- 
metics become  you,)  and  a  couple  of  lazy  trollops  who  call 
themselves  3^our  maids ;  and  then  you  have  a  stock-broker, 
and  a  corn-cutter,  and  the  devil  knows  what  besides,  so 
that  I  am  fairly  pillaged  by  the  train  of  robbers  that  you 
feed.    You  should  remember  that  when  you  came  to  me 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      45 

with  only  your  smock,  you  never  hinted  that  I  was  to  pay 
so  dearly  for  the  pleasure  of  giving  you  my  name." 

Lady  Mary  would  remain  silent.  She  feared  no  one  in 
the  world  but  one  man,  and  this  was  my  father.  He  had 
thoroughly  broken  in  and  cowed  her.  She  was  tamer  than 
a  cat  before  him. 

Then  he  would  resume  in  the  old  strain — 

"  Here  is  Timms,  writes  up  from  Twickenham  that  one 
of  the  cows  is  dead;  that  is  a  loss  of  twenty  pounds. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  I  shall  be  beggared  at  this  rate  among 
you.  And  there  is  a  new  roof  wanted  to  the  stable,  and 
one  of  the  doors  has  come  away  from  the  piggery,  and  the 
scoundrels  still  continue  poaching,  and  one  of  my  best 
dogs  was  poisoned  last  week.  But  you  have  no  sympathy 
for  all  this — ^j'ou  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  sow.  You 
think  only  of  your  balls  and  beaux.  I  thought  you 
were  too  old  for  such  nonsense.  You  remind  me  of  the 
proverb,  madam,  '  Many  a  fool  have  I  seen,  but  an  old  fool 
like  this  never.'  And  what  the  deuce  good  is  Lord  Hervey 
to  3^ou?  And  the  Duke  of  Wharton — ^why,  he  makes  you 
liis  public  laughing-stock.  *  Old  Moll,'  he  says,  '  thinks  I 
care  for  her ;  I  should  as  soon  think  of  caring  for  old  Noll.' 
And  then  he  drinks  damnation  to  the  Protector,  and  saj^s, 
'The  king  shall  have  his  own  again.'  Do  you  know, 
madam,  that  I  have  not  had  a  tailor's  bill  myself  for  the 
last  three  years,  while  you  are  dressed  up  every  week  in 
new  fmery?  And  I  could  restock  my  farm  for  half  the 
money  that  you  spend  in  Japanese  ogres  and  four-footed 
demons  in  porcelain.  I  shall  be  beggared  by  you  in  the 
end,  I  know.  Then  there  is  this  young  scoundrel,  a  true 
imp  of  your  own  breeding.  (This,  gentle  reader,  referred 
to  me.)  I  find  he  is  perpetually  flinging  stones  and  break- 
ing windows.  I  have  had  to  pay  five  glaziers'  bills  for 
him  in  the  last  three  weeks;  this  shows  your  careful 
training  of  him.     But  I  suppose   he  will  come  to  the 


46      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

gallows.  He  has  ridden  two  ponies  to  death ;  he  knocked 
down  a  pedlar,  and  spoilt  his  box  of  goods,  for  which  I 
had  to  pay  three  and  tenpence  damages ;  he  has  run  up 
a  bill  at  the  baker's  for  sweet  cakes,  which  will  soon  bring 
him  under  the  clutches  of  one  of  your  blood-sucking 
apothecaries,  and  there  will  be  a  long  account  sent  in. 
How  the  devil,  madam,  can  any  fortune  stand  up  against 
this  ?  Only  that  you  save  three  hundred  a  j^ear  out  of  the 
five  hundred  which  the  Chancellor  allows  you  for  keeping 
your  lunatic  sister,  I  don't  know  where  we  should  be. 
You  look  as  if  you  thought  my  bonds  and  speculations 
produced  thousands.  Well,  they  certainly  do ;  but  then 
thej^  ought  to  produce  tens  of  thousands,  and  I  don't  see 
what  benefit  I  gain,  if,  while  I  make  money  with  one  hand, 
you  and  this  imp  lavish  it  away  with  another.  Hencefor- 
ward, madam,  it  is  my  command  that  you  spend  only  a 
hundred  a  year  on  Lad}'^  Mar,  and  save  all  the  rest ;  indeed, 
I  don't  see  why  3'ou  cannot  support  her  well  for  a  guinea 
a  week,  for  as  she  lives  in  the  garret  here,  there  is  no  house- 
rent  or  servant's  wages,  and  surely  that  is  enough  to  clothe 
a  mad  woman." 

Tlien  the  house  steward  would  be  called,  and  addressed 
as  follows : 

"  Wilkins,  I  fear  you  are  a  regular  rogue.  I  have  been 
overhauling  some  bills,  and  I  find  I  am  cheated  right  and 
left.  There  is  coals  thirty-five  pounds  fourteen  shillings 
and  sevenpence.  Why  the  house  must  be  as  hot  as  hell 
with  all  these  fires.  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  letting  the 
servants  go  on  in  this  way  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am  made 
of  money  ?  I  certainly  should  be  so  to  satisfy  such  gross 
extravagance.  Then  I  find  a  butcher's  bill,  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  pounds  two  shillings  and  sixpence  halfpenny. 
How  is  this  ?  Where,  when,  whj^,  how,  was  all  this  meat 
eaten  ?  It  is  enough  to  feed  a  regiment.  I  suppose  all  tlie 
Vagabonds  in  the  neighborhood  dine  at  my  expense.     And 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      47 

how  much  of  this  goes  into  your  own  pocket  as  percentage  ? 
You're  a  rogue,  sir,  and  you  look  like  an  extravagant  one. 
Have  I  not  told  you  over  and  over  again  that  I  will  not 
allow  the  servants  to  cram  and  stuff  at  this  rate  ?  Why, 
they  live  on  venison,  I  suppose — venison  and  claret ;  noth- 
ing else  will  satisfy  their  nasty  bellies.  There  is  a  beer 
bill,  forty-seven  pounds  nine  shillings.  Is  all  this  gone  in 
beer  ?  The  servants  must  be  always  drunk ;  and  you,  sir, 
look  as  if  you  were  drunk  at  this  moment.  No  wonder  I 
am  pillaged  this  way,  when  the  person  who  ought  to  over- 
look these  villains  is  himself  guzzling  from  morning  till 
night.  Do  you  know  what  the  chandler's  bill  comes  to  ? — 
seventy-eight  pounds  thirteen  shillings  and  elevenpence 
farthing.  Soap  and  candles.  I  would  contract  to  supply 
a  whole  barrack  with  both  for  that  sum.  Leave  the  room, 
sir,  and  go  at  once  to  every  one  of  these  ruffians  and 
deduct  five  and  twenty  per  cent,  from  their  bills  and  pay 
them,  and  bring  me  back  the  receipt. 

"  And  now,  madam  " — turning  to  Lady  Mary — "  what 
are  you  going  to  do  for  the  day  ?  Intent  on  gadding,  I 
suppose  ?  Gad  where  you  like,  but  don't  lay  out  money. 
I  will  stand  any  of  your  follies,  madam ;  but  I  will  not 
stand  this.  You  know  your  father  will  not  give  us  a 
pennj' ;  he  spends  it  on  his  mistress.  It  is  j'our  duty,  then, 
as  you  came  to  me  penniless,  to  make  up  for  it  in  thrift. 
By\t  I  maj''  as  well  preach  to  a  deaf  man  as  to  talk  to  you 
of  saving.  Have  j'ou  considered  what  I  said  about  your 
sister?  She  can  live  splendidly  on  a  guinea  a  week.  Let 
her  have  a  mutton-chop  or  two  now  and  then ;  fish  is  cheap 
and  wholesome;  she  can  occasionally  have  a  pudding. 
Let  her  drink  water,  for  this  cools  the  brain.  Any  fer- 
mented liquor  will  only  kill  her.  Now,  madam,  can  you 
not  supply  her  well  with  these  articles  for  five  or  six  shil- 
lings a  week?  Her  clothes,  I  suppose,  will  be  ten  pounds 
a  year ;  her  washing  about  as  much.    What  more  can  she 


48      EDWARD  WOBTLEY  MONTAQU. 

want  ?  Oh,  a  servant.  Well,  have  we  not  a  horde  of  lazy 
servants  ?  What  can  she  require  a  servant  for  ?  Her 
apothecary's  bill  ought  not  to  be  more  than  a  guinea  or 
two ;  indeed,  she  will  not  want  any  drugs  at  all,  if  you  feed 
her  on  plain,  wholesome  food.  Thus,  madam,  you  might 
save  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  j^ear,  which  you  could 
have  for  your  own  pleasures — I  mean  your  own  pin  money, 
without  making  these  everlasting  demands  on  me,  which  I 
am  resolved  I  will  no  longer  satisfy.  Then  why  don't  you 
win  from  Wharton  ?  That  is  the  least  you  may  do  to 
repay  yourself  for  his  laughter.  I  am  sure  your  skill  at 
cards  is  deep  enough;  and  the  fool  is  spending  all  his 
money  on  worse  foibles  than  these.  What  good  is  he  to 
you,  unless  you  win  his  gold?" 

These,  the  reader  will  say,  were  wretched  scenes.  Indeed, 
they  were ;  yet  they  were  of  daily  occurrence.  The  lessons 
of  thrift  perpetually'  dinned  into  Lady  Mary's  ears  by  a 
husband  who  almost  denied  himself  the  common  necessa- 
ries of  life,  produced  their  effect,  and  she  at  length  became 
as  miserly  and  grasping  as  her  tutor.  She  hated  to  part 
with  a  sixpence.  She  would  hoard  and  hoard  small  sums, 
and  though  constantly  dunned  for  debts  which  she  ought 
to  have  discharged  long  ago,  she  could  not  induce  her  hand 
to  open  her  purse  strings,  but  put  off  the  wretched  creditor 
until  he  was  tired  of  asking,  and  often  gave  up  the  debt  in 
despair  or  disgust,  or  forgetfulness,  if  it  were  a  small  sum. 
This,  I  believe,  is  a  trick  with  many  fine  people ;  for  trades- 
men in  a  large  way  of  business  cannot  constantly  be 
examining  their  books  for  small  balances  over  due ;  or  if 
they  can,  it  is  not  worth  their  while  to  send  half  a  dozen 
times  as  many  miles  for  these  wretched  items.  Thus  they 
are  eventually  forgotten  or  abandoned,  and  the  miser  finds 
himself  at  the  year's  end  some  four  or  five  pounds  richer, 
whereat  he  hugs  himself  with  joj'^,  and  resolves  to  cheat 
twenty  other   tradesmen  in  the  same  way  for   the  next 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      49 

twelve  months  out  of  small  sums.  So  it  goes  on,  and  at 
the  end  of  twenty  or  thirty  years  he  has  gained  bj'  dirty 
plunder  of  this  kind  perhaps  four  or  five  hundred  pounds, 
which  is  carefully  stowed  away,  with  all  his  other  ill-got 
savings,  until  gaunt  Death  walks  in  and  bears  Irim  off  as 
ruthlessly  as  a  hawk  snaps  up  a  sparrow,  or  the  lordly 
gamecock  picks  a  grub  from  the  dunghill;  and  his  heir, 
finding  this  five  hundred  among  the  rest,  gives  it  to  some 
procuress,  or  spends  it  on  a  single  cast  of  faro,  and  it 
goes  at  once  to  the  devil,  where  its  first  owner  had  preceded 
it,  and  its  new  master  will  probably  follow. 

Being  thus  perpetually  tormented  about  economy,  and 
having  dinned  daily  into  her  impatient  ears  the  necessity 
of  saving.  Lady  Mary  was  obliged  to  get  money  for  her 
pleasures  how  she  could ;  for  she  had  a  truly  ducal  set  of 
passions,  which  craved  to  be  fed,  and  were  very  indignant 
when  they  could  not  be  gratified.  She  had  already  half 
starved  poor  Lady  Mar,  and  out  of  the  five  hundred 
pounds  set  apart  for  her  support,  at  least  saved  four.  This 
was  very  well,  but  ducal  appetites  need  something  more 
than  this  paltry  food.  She  then  took  to  gambling,  and  as 
she  did  not  much  care  what  she  did,  she  won  immensely 
for  a  short  time ;  until  at  last  people  began  to  suspect  that 
there  was  more  than  met  the  eye  in  this  uncommon  amount 
of  good  luck,  and  the  wise  declared  off  accordingly,  leaving 
only  the  young  fools  to  be  her  antagonists,  who  were  glad 
to  lose  their  money  to  a  wit,  a  fine  lady,  and  a  duke's 
daughter.  But  this  was,  after  all,  only  a  precarious  re- 
source, so  she  began  to  dabble  in  the  stocks,  and  here  her 
acquaintance  with  Craggs  was  of  great  advantage  to  her. 
This  fellow's  father  had  been  a  common  pander  to  the  Duke 
of  York  or  any  other  great  lord  who  would  pay  him,  and 
as  he  did  not  lack  shrewdness,  he  scraped  up  a  vast  deal 
of  money,  which  he  freely  expended  in  the  education  of  his 
only  son,  hoping  to  see  him  Prime  Minister,  perhaps ;  at 


50      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

all  events,  high  in  the  administration  of  this  happily  gov- 
erned land.  And  he  succeeded  in  his  wish.  Young  Craggs 
was  handsome,  and  with  a  good,  porter-like  person.  Young 
women  about  the  Court  took  a  liking  to  him ;  he  had  great 
calves,  a  broad  back,  a  body  like  an  Irish  chairman,  and 
was,  moreover,  not  very  choice  about  trifles ;  and  owning 
a  seat  in  Parliament,  he  absolutely  became  one  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's principal  secretaries  of  state,  to  the  wonder  of  all 
who  remembered  the  unhallowed  trade  of  his  revered  father, 
but  not  at  all  to  the  astonishment  of  those  who  were  be- 
hind the  scenes,  and  knew  the  pliancy  of  the  young  gen- 
tleman, and  his  convenient  subserviency  to  such  people 
as  Kendal  and  Kilmansegg.  This  man  my  Lady  Mary 
greatly  courted.  Alas  1  do  not  blame  her.  Did  not  Pope, 
and  Swift,  and  Harley,  and  the  King,  and  two  hundred 
members  of  Parliament,  and  fifty  or  sixty  heaven-born 
children  of  the  Upper  House,  with  stars,  garters,  ribbons, 
and  long  pedigrees,  do  the  same?  Why,  then,  pour  all 
the  vials  of  wrath  upon  a  weak  woman?  But  I  know 
you  will  not ;  you  are  too  good-natured ;  you  yourself  de- 
spise a  lord  and  right  honorable,  but  you  have  mercy  on 
those  who  adore  and  kneel  before  them.  Lady  Mary 
courted  him,  then,  and  as  Craggs  was  always  buying  and 
selling,  and  scheming  and  speculating,  and  possessed,  as  a 
Cabinet  Minister,  means  of  knowledge  such  as  no  other 
person  had,  he  was  usually  successful  in  his  stock  exchange 
commerce,  and  they  to  whom  he  gave  hints  were  successful 
also.  Was  it  wrong?  Well,  I  don't  know.  The  world 
agrees  to  say  yes,  and  I  suppose  the  world  is  right ;  but  I 
shall  not  enter  into  the  question.  Suffice  it  to  say,  if  it 
was  wrong,  it  was  pleasant.  Yes,  by  Plutus !  pleasant  in 
the  extreme.  For  show  me  the  parallel  on  earth  of  that 
ecstatic  joy  which,  like  Yenus  from  the  ocean,  is  born  out 
of  cent,  per  cent.;  the  rapture  with  which  I,  who  have 
invested  a  thousand  pounds,  suddenly  find  myself,  without 


EDWARD     WORTLET    MONTAGU.  61 

any  care,  or  thought,  or  trouble,  or  toil,  the  happy  master 
of  five  thousand  guineas,  all  bright,  golden,  shining,  beau- 
tiful as  God  himself.  Talk  of  the  wedding-day  and  suc- 
cessful love,  and  the  joy  of  an  heir,  and  the  rational  delight 
felt  and  experienced  at  your  rich  father's  sudden  death,  and 
the  triumph  of  a  successful  speech  in  Parliament,  and  the 
rapture  of  intoxication  born  out  of  ambrosial  Burgundy, 
and  the  joy  one  feels  when  his  shrew  of  a  wife  runs  away 
with  a  wealthy  simpleton  who  can  pay  three  thousand 
pounds  in  damages,  and  the  ecstatic  dreams  of  Quixotism, 
and  the  glorious  uprising  of  a  blessed  spirit  into  the  light 
of  Paradise,  and  the  white-robed  seraphs  of  the  celestial. 
All  these,  I  suppose,  are  very  fine ;  but  is  there  one  man  on 
earth  who  would  be  donkey  enough  to  barter  these  for  the 
transporting  bliss  which  that  happy  mortal  feels  who, 
having  given  twenty  thousand  guineas  to  his  broker,  wakes 
up  next  day  and  finds  himself  owner  of  a  plum — ^yes,  a 
plum  value  one  hundred  thousand  solid  pounds. 

So  felt  and  thought  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu — so 
felt  and  thought  that  lively  Frenchman,  Monsieur  Achille, 
Hannibal,  Caesar,  Charlemagne  Ruremonde,  my  lady's 
dark-eyed  friend  and  lover.  For  he  was  both.  What  is 
the  good  of  denying  it  ?  Ruremonde  was  master  of  ten 
thousand  pounds ;  when,  or  where,  or  how  acquired,  only 
Heaven  knows,  and  no  doubt  it  was  registered  above  in 
some  awful  book.  But  that  he  had  it  was  certain ;  that  he 
was  a  vain,  volatile,  conceited  fool  was  equally  matter  of 
mathematical  demonstration.  He  was  a  small,  fiery  man, 
with  a  big  nose,  ferocious,  flashing  eyes,  a  terrible  big 
moustache ;  he  dressed  with  great  elegance,  had  a  fine  taste 
in  perfumes;  was  ringed,  curled,  ringletted,  scented,  and 
even  washed  to  perfection.  He  fell  in  love  with  Lady 
Mary.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  and  had  but  to  whistle  after 
any  woman,  and  she  was  his,  so  he  believed — but  like  many 
another  frail  mortal,  he  was  deceived  by  his  self-love.    My 


St  EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

lady  fooled  him  to  the  top  of  his  bent ;  she  turned  him 
inside-out,  like  an  old  glove.  She  had  no  serious  notion 
of  breaking  the  seventh  commandment  with  a  Frenchman. 
The  thing  was  absurd.  A  Frenchman  dare  to  lift  his  eyes 
to  her  ?     Ridiculous ! 

She  wrote  Ruremonde  letters  that  drove  him  mad.  Here 
was  a  lovely  woman  dying  for  him — only  she  couldn't  get 
away.  She  sent  him  notes  that  almost  set  fire  to  the  paper ; 
they  certainly  burned  up  the  small  remnant  of  brains  which 
poor  Ruremonde  possessed,  and  lo !  he  was  utterly  lost 
and  frenzied.  Oh,  how  she  loved  him !  How  she  adored, 
idolized,  worshipped  his  dear  image  1  But  alas !  flight  was 
impossible — flight  with  him,  her  soul's  darling,  the  treasure 
of  her  eyes,  the  Adonis  among  mankind,  the  chevalier  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche.  Ruremonde  was  distracted.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  Should  he  shoot  Montagu  ?  He  meditated 
it  a  long  time.  The  fate  of  Count  Konigsmark's  friends, 
who  had  some  time  before  performed  that  kind  office  for 
Tom  Thynne,  (Tom  o'  ten  thousand,)  butchering  him  like  a 
pig  in  Pall  Mall,  rather  deterred  our  valorous  friend.  Yet  I 
think  he  would  have  risked  it,  had  he  been  quite  certain  of 
my  lady ;  but,  as  he  was  not,  why,  he  trusted  to  the  chapter 
of  accidents.  Meanwhile,  Lady  Mary  was  all  sympathy,  all 
soul,  all  anxiety  about  Ruremonde.  He  occupied  her 
thoughts  night  and  day — he  was  her  dream,  her  passion, 
&c.  How  could  she  serve  him  ?  Oh,  lucky  thought ! 
There  was  Mister.  Craggs — her  right  honorable  acquaint- 
ance and  associate.  She  would  invest  his  money ;  she 
would  make  it  double,  treble,  quadruple — nay,  she  would 
make  it  reproduce  itself  twentyfold.  Was  not  Craggs 
Secretary  of  State,  and  did  he  not  know  what  was  what, 
and  did  he  not  make  the  fortune  of  Johnny  Gay  and  fifty 
others  who  confided  in  him  ?  Why  should  he  not  do  the 
same  for  Lady  Mary's  dearest  and  most  trusted  friend  ? 
Aye,  indeed,  why  should  he  not  ? 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      53 

And  the  Frenchman  absolutely  gave  my  mother  five 
thousand  pounds,  and  it  was  all  lost,  gone,  swallowed  up, 
no  one  ever  knew  what  became  of  it — gone,  though  Craggs 
had  advised  and  counselled,  and  revealed  secrets  which  by 
oath  he  ought  not  to  have  revealed.  So  Ruremonde  raved 
like  a  madman,  there  were  frightful  scenes  and  frightful 
letters,  and  he  threatened  to  show  her  sweet  billets  to  her 
husband,  and  she  threatened  to  have  his  throat  cut  by  the 
right  honorable  Lord  Stair,  and  there  was  nothing  but  fire 
and  wrath  and  fury  and  revenge  between  this  amiable  pair. 
How  it  was  settled  in  the  end  I  know  not.  My  father,  it 
was  supposed,  never  bothered  his  head  about  it.  I  believe 
my  lady  disgorged  two  thousand  pounds,  but  the  other 
three  were  lost  irretrievably.  Ruremonde,  I  fancy,  went 
mad.  At  all  events,  he  was  never  afterwards  heard  of.  I 
think  it  cured  him  of  conceit.  One  can't  make  love  to  a 
duke's  daughter  without  paying  the  piper  handsomely  for 
such  a  privilege.  The  few  who  were  in  the  secret  laughed 
at  him  for  a  dupe,  but  my  lady  dreaded  to  the  last  moment 
of  her  existence  that  he  would  some  day  turn  up  and  tell  all 
to  her  husband.  What  if  he  had  ?  Was  it  not  that  worthy 
gentleman's  own  fault  ?  Was  it  not  the  legitimate  end  of 
all  his  screwing,  scraping,  saving,  and  pinching  ?  I  sup- 
pose he  must  have  heard  something  of  it,  but  he  was 
discreetly  silent  if  he  had.  What  was  it  to  him?  His 
wife  had  got  three  thousand  pounds  clear  profit  out  of  this 
transaction,  and  only  lost  what  she  did  not  value,  nor  he 
regard.  Pope,  also,  who  was  now  one  of  our  dearest  friends, 
heard  some  tittle  tattle  about  it ;  but  he  was  too  well  bred 
to  mention  a  syllable  of  the  matter  to  the  profane  vulgar 
at  large.  It  was  only  in  after  years  he  alluded  to  it  in  the 
line — "Who  starves  a  sister  and  denies  a  debt."  Every 
one  then  knew  who  he  meant,  and  everybody  laughed  and 
sneered  when  my  lady's  back  was  turned,  but  when  she 
was  present  face  to  face,  they  all  shook  hands  with  her, 
4 


54  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

and  smiled,  and  simpered,  and  flattered,  as  if  she  were  the 
sweetest  vestal  since  the  days  of  Rhea  Sylvia.  O I  Eng- 
land !  England  1  thou  art  the  land  of  honesty  and  truth 
and  frankness ;  yet  have  I  seen  more  humbug,  falsehood, 
and  hypocrisy  practised  in  one  day  within  thy  golden  isle, 
than  in  a  month  in  France,  Spain,  or  Italy,  or  even  in  the 
subtle  Orient  itself.  But  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  avow  this. 
It  looks  unpatriotic.  I  know  that  it  will  be  called  a  ras- 
cally lie.    Well,  so  be  It.     . 


CHAPTER   r. 

From  all  these  pleasing  incidents,  it  may  be  seen  that 
my  life  was  horribly  wretched.  Oh  I  how  I  louged  for 
sympathy — ^for  one  bright  beam  of  love,  for  one  sweet, 
fond  smile  under  whose  soft  and  genial  influence  my  heart 
might  bud  in  flowers.  But  no  smile,  though  I  looked  for 
it  morning,  noon,  and  night.  I  had  a  vague  remembrance 
of  some  caresses  which  my  mother  gave  me  while  I  was  yet 
in  petticoats.  I  could  vividly  recollect  those  bright  eyes 
beautified  with  the  maternal  gleam  of  warm  afiection.  Her 
long  and  silken  hair  fell  over  my  cheeks  and  brow,  as  she 
kissed  and  pressed  me  to  her  breast ;  her  face  assumed  the 
likeness  of  an  angel ;  her  smile  dwelt  still  within  my  soul, 
like  a  faint  dream  of  Paradise.  But  all  this  was  gone,  and 
gone,  I  feared,  never  to  return.  As  I  grew  up,  her  demon- 
strations of  love  became  fainter,  and  even  still  more  faint, 
until  at  last  they  disappeared  forever.  How  I  have  lin- 
gered near  her,  hoping  for  some  gentle  word ;  how  I  have 
looked  into  her  ej'es  and  yearned  for  one  sweet  sunbeam 
of  returning  fondness ;  how  I  have  sought  by  every  boyish 
art  to  win  her  back  once  more  to  olden  days  when  that 
long  and  dearly  cherished  kiss  was  given,  and  all  the 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  65 

mother  sparkled  in  her  look ;  how  I  have  listened  at  her 
bed-room  door  to  hear  those  tones  that  even  still  were 
melody  to  my  ear,  dreaming  that  they  may  happily  breathe 
of  me;  how  I  have  lain  awake  at  night,  and  wept,  and 
sighed,  and  thought  how  intensel}'^  I  could  love  her  if  she 
only  cared  for  me  in  the  least — all  these  things,  God  and 
my  own  breaking  heart  knew.     The  books  I  thought  she 
loved  most,  these  I  sought  to  master,  and  was  proud  and 
happy  when  she  found  me  poring  over  them ;  the  flowers 
she  regarded  best  I  tended  with  all  the  skill  that  I  owned, 
so  that  they  were  ever  free  from  dust  or  weeds  or  insects ; 
and  when  she  walked  forth  every  bright  parterre  was  fault- 
less to  the  eye.     No  rewarding  smile  or  word  or  token  of 
approval  did  I  get.     To  Congreve  she  was  all  brightness, 
life,  and  spirit;    her  silvery  laugh  sounded  like  divinest 
melody ;  but  when  I  stood  before  her,  scarcely  daring  to 
look  into  those  eyes  for  that  sacred  love  after  which  I 
pined,  she  was  cold,  severe,  and  silent.     When  Pope  was 
near,  when  Wharton  was  by  her  side,  gazing  at  her  with 
his  large  and  earnest  eyes,  how  beautiful  she  appeared  1 
All  her  genius  shone  out  of  her  spirit-face;  her  features 
glowed  with  animation ;  her  tongue  spake  in  softest  accents, 
and  she  seemed  a  something  more  than  earthly.     When 
the  visitor  departed  a  magic  change  came  over  her — she 
froze,  as  it  were,  into  marble ;  she  grew  cold,  still,  selfish, 
unfeeling,  capricious,  and   exacting.      One   reads   in  old 
romances  of  a  beautiful  damsel  discovered  in  a  forest  by 
some  brave  errant  knight ;  she  weeps,  she  prays,  she  smiles, 
she  fascinates.    The  gallant  adventurer  vows  to  devote  his 
life  to  her  service ;  she  leads  him  to  her  bower  or  to  some 
fairie  castle.     Something  in  her  appearance  suddenly  awa- 
kens suspicion,  and  the  noble  knight  clutches  his  good 
sword  Excalibar  within  his  mailed  hand,  and  mayhap  as 
an  additional  precaution  lifts  up  a  prayer  to  God  and  the 
Virgin,    Scarcely  has  he  done  it,  when  a  transformation  is 


66       EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAaU. 

seen — a  mighty  transformation  indeed ;  the  virgin  disap- 
pears, and  he  sees  only  a  venomous  serpent  looking  at  him 
with  deadly  eyes,  as  Lucifer  looked  on  Eve,  and  hissing 
forth  cold  poison.  Such  was  the  difference  between  my 
mother  before  her  visitors,  and  my  mother  with  her  son. 

Ah  me,  my  friend,  there  are  manj--,  many  of  these  snake- 
women  on  the  earth,  and  when  I  see  them  I  know  them  as 
if  by  instinct ;  my  blood  congeals  into  stone,  and  I  get 
away  as  quick  as  I  can,  for  they  awaken  gloomy  reminis- 
cences, and  I  feel  as  if  in  the  presence  of  something 
exceedingly  deadly,  slimy,  and  repellant.  The  depth  of 
ice  within  their  hearts  can  no  man  fathom ;  the  force  of 
energy  in  carrying  out  their  cold  purposes  even  unto  death, 
can  no  man  exaggerate. 

You  may  note  them  by  the  firm  compressed  lip  when  the 
face  is  in  repose,  and  the  icicle-light  that  glazes  over  their 
eyes  as  if  with  a  transparent  gauze,  and  the  smile  that 
never  blushes  out  of  the  heart,  or  returns  again  into  that 
impassioned  fount,  but  is  born  of  the  external  skin,  plays 
over  it,  and  retires  back  into  it,  when  its  mechanical  work 
is  done.  All  these  women  are  poisoners  in  their  hearts.  I 
believe  that  great  numbers  of  them  in  reality  kill  their 
husbands,  or  all  who  stand  in  their  w&j — but  they  can 
smile  over  them  even  while  they  murder.  The  falsehood 
of  men  I  care  not  for.  I  am  prepared  for  it,  and  I  can 
baffle  it ;  if  I  fail  it  is  my  own  fault.  But  the  falsehood 
and  selfishness  and  want  of  feeling  in  women  seems  so 
utterly,  so  outrageously  monstrous  and  unnatural,  that 
when  I  find  and  experience  them,  I  feel  like  one  who  has 
trodden  unawares  on  some  pestiferous  serpent  whose  A'ery 
breath  is  ruin.  I  start  back  aghast  and  in  despair.  My 
limbs  quiver ;  my  face  grows  pallid ;  my  hairs  stand  erect. 
I  am  horror-stricken  and  frightened  in  my  very  inmost 
being.  For  woman  was  given  to  man  to  soothe,  to  soften, 
to  refine,  to  humanize  into  angelic  beauty ;  and  when  she 


EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  57 

perverts  this  holy  purpose  how  very  dreadful  must  her 
spirit  appear  before  her  Lord  and  Maker  I 

I  was  not  at  this  period  able  to  fathom  the  secret  of  this 
scornful  indifference,  but  I  think  I  can  now  do  so.  In  the 
first  place  all  love  between  Lady  Mary  and  her  husband 
had  long  since  disappeared;  with  her  love  for  him,  or 
whatever  the  feeling  originally  was,  vanished  also  her  love 
of  his  son.  In  the  second  place  she  was  immersed  in  so 
many  plots,  pursuits,  and  occupations,  that  she  really  had 
no  time  to  give  the  softer  feelings  of  her  heart  the  least 
chance  of  vitality.  She  was  a  leader  in  that  heartless  game 
called  "fashionable  life,"  and  this  absorbs  a  great  quantity 
of  a  woman's  time ;  she  studied  very  hard  and  spent  a 
great  portion  of  CA^ery  day  among  her  books  and  papers ; 
by  no  other  means,  I  suppose,  can  a  lady  obtain  and  keep 
the  renown  of  being 

"That  dangeroas  tMng,  a  female  wit.** 

She  was  also  perpetually  devising  new  schemes  and  devices 
to  get  money  and  to  keep  it  when  got;  for  my  father's 
wretched  avarice  was  so  all-absorbing  that  I  verily  believe 
if  he  could  have  fed  us  on  bran  and  littered  us  on  straw  he 
would  have  been  but  too  glad  to  do  it ;  and  as  he  was 
perpetually  railing  at  her  extravagance  she  was  absolutely 
forced  into  a  life  of  meanness,  shifts,  falsehoods,  equivoca- 
tions, and  dirty  petty  savings  in  order  to  preserve  the 
household  circle  from  being  a  perfect  hell  upon  earth. 
Finally,  she  was  so  fond  of  admiration  that  she  was  per- 
petually employed  in  inventing  new  limes  to  captivate  the 
wealthy  or  the  witty ;  from  the  first  of  whom  she  won  their 
money  at  the  bassette  table,  and  from  the  second  their 
applause  in  the  journals  or  in  song;  so  that  she  had  really 
no  leisure  to  be  good  or  kind  or  loving;  and  when  a 
woman's  or  a  man's  mind  has  all  these  various  vanities 
and  employments  daily  and  hourly  pressing  on  it,  probably 


58      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

yoTi  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  the  result  is,  littla 
feeling  for  any  one  except  themselves. 

If  I  dread  one  thing  more  than  another  in  penning  these 
papers,  it  is  that  I  may  appear  unnatural  in  my  delinea- 
tion of  the  parents  of  my  being.  But  after  a  long  and 
painful  meditation  I  must  hazard  this  charge  unless  I  de- 
liberately violate  the  truth.  Nothing,  of  course,  could  be 
more  easy  than  for  me  to  avoid  all  reference  to  these  miser- 
able transactions ;  to  smother  them  up  forever  in  night, 
and  to  plunge  into  the  details  of  my  own  life  without  any 
lengthened  reference  to  either  Lady  Mary  or  her  husband. 
By  doing  this  I  should  avoid  great  censure  and  spare 
my  own  heart.  But  would  it  be  honest,  just,  and  fair? 
Would  it  even  be  right  to  myself,  whose  character  has  been 
moulded,  whose  career  to  a  great  extent  has  been  fashioned 
by  the  training  which  I  had  at  home,  by  the  examples 
which  I  there  beheld,  by  the  life  which  I  saw  there  prevail  ? 
I  am  persuaded  that  it  would  not,  and  that  even  were  there 
no  higher  motive,  self-defence  would  require  from  me  this 
anatomy.  But  there  is  a  higher  motive.  Can  I  for  one 
moment  suppose  that  Lady  Mary  and  her  husband  were 
the  only  parents  who  ever  behaved  so  to  their  only  son  ? 
It  is  impossible.  On  the  contrary,  have  I  not  the  best 
reason  for  believing  that  there  are  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  similar  fathers  and  mothers  who  look  upon  their  chil- 
dren as  nuisances  and  enemies ;  freeze  out  of  them  in  their 
earliest  youth  every  flowing  sentiment  of  beauty  and  of 
love,  which  holy  Nature  implanted  in  their  souls.  Yea,  by 
Allah,  they  are  to  be  counted  in  thousands,  and  to  such  we 
may  attribute,  in  a  great  measure,  the  sad  discordance 
which  prevails  in  all  things;  the  exaggerated  foibles  and 
vices  and  absurdities  for  which  our  young  men  are  noted, 
and  the  general  tone  of  affectation,  selfishness,  and  infidelity 
which  pervades  every  order  of  society.  Therefore  do  I 
write  these  things  that  parents  and  guardians  may  see 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       59 

with  their  own  eyes  a  vivid  picture  of  themselves;  and 
may  be  startled  by  those  incidents  in  the  career  of  others 
which  they  themselves  daily  repeat,  but  on  which  their  self- 
love  has  never  let  them  cast  an  investigating  glance. 

When,  therefore,  0  friend  and  reader,  thou  censurest  me 
for  my  misanthropy,  bear  in  mind  that  all  my  finest  feel- 
ings were  frozen  at  their  source  while  I  was  yet  a  child ; 
when  thou  arraignest  me  for  waywardness  and  wilfulness, 
remember  that  from  the  first  I  never  had  a  guiding  hand, 
or  a  loving  eye  to  restrain  me  in  the  least;  when  thou 
cavillest  at  my  life  misused,  my  talents  thrown  away,  my 
virtues  perverted  into  vices,  my  passions  let  loose  in  tem- 
pests on  myself  and  others,  pause  and  ask  thyself  what 
right  have  I  to  blame  this  man  ?  How  know  I  what  I  also 
may  not  have  grown  to  be,  had  I  been  nurtured  like  him  ? 
From  the  first  he  was  an  outcast  from  the  heart  and  centre 
of  home ;  he  was  thrown  among  servants ;  he  was  exiled 
from  all  affection,  from  all  fond  solicitude,  from  all  the 
melodious  influences  of  sympathy  and  feeling.  The  most 
vagabond  order  of  existence  seemed  to  him,  and  was,  pref- 
erable to  his  own  home.  Within  his  father's  threshold 
virtue  never  passed,  nor  meek-eyed  charity,  nor  soft  for- 
giveness; but  every  thing  he  witnessed  was  hard,  cold, 
severe,  and  despicable.  The  guests  whom  he  saw  assem- 
bled were  selfish  scoundrels  or  silly  coxcombs ;  they  who 
should  have  been  purified  by  learning,  or  genius,  or  great 
and  sliining  talent,  were  merely  intellect  without  God.  His 
father  was  a  hardened  miser,  whose  whole  soul  was  in  his 
gold  and  in  his  guineas ;  his  mother  was  a  vain  woman  of 
fashion,  who  thought  wit,  gallantry,  and  scandal  the  three 
sister  graces  of  the  earth ;  his  only  sister  was  a  mere  idiot, 
who  never  soared  a  thought  above  the  existence  of  a  grub; 
his  tutors  were  harsh,  unfeeling  wretches,  who  tortured 
him  body  and  soul ;  he  never  heard  a  noble  and  generous 
sentiment,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was  surrounded  by  & 


60      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

motley  crew,  who  laughed  at  all  religion  and  virtue,  and 
whose  sole  object  was  to  get  on  in  the  world,  no  matter  by 
what  means  or  by  what  resources. 

Let  me  cite,  for  example,  one  of  these  fellows.  Con- 
greve,  the  colaborer  with  Pope  in  that  honorable  attempt 
on  my  mother,  which  was  followed  up  with  so  much  perti- 
nacity', and  ended  with  so  much  wretchedness.  Congreve 
was  what  many  would  call  a  handsome  man,  but  he  never 
seemed  to  be  so  in  my  eyes.  There  was  an  insufferable 
pride  in  every  puppy  feature ;  not  the  pride  of  nobleness, 
or  honor,  or  self-conscious  dignity,  but  a  low,  foppish, 
arrogant  pride,  founded  on  his  figure,  his  eyes,  his  fine 
dress,  his  reputation  as  a  wit,  his  ofliicial  place,  his  luxu- 
rious bachelorhood,  and  the  applause  of  some  score  of  silly 
women  of  high  rank,  who  were  half  crazy  after  "darling 
Will."  To  see  him  strut  about  the  theatre  was  itself  a 
sight;  it  reminded  one  of  the  peacock,  the  basest  of  birds, 
except  for  its  plumage.  To  hear  him  lisp  finely,  and  see 
him  look  at  you  with  a  supercilious,  scornful  air,  as  if  3'^ou 
.  were  unworthy  to  be  his  slave,  and  note  in  every  word,  and 
look,  and  gesture,  that  himself  alone  was  the  object  of  his 
incessant  admiration,  was  one  of  the  most  trying  ordeals 
to  which  one's  temper  could  be  put.  He  would  lounge  into 
a  drawing-room,  gorgeously  dressed,  and  before  a  dozen 
women  who  ought  to  be  virtuous,  and  who  certainly  were 
in  the  peerage  books,  exclaim — • 

"  Ohl  demme,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  for  all  you 
women.  You  won't  give  a  man  a  moment's  peace.  Like 
Orpheus,  I  shall  be  torn  into  five  hundred  pieces.  There 
are  fifty  contending  for  me  at  the  same  moment.  By  Gad ! 
I  shall  retire  into  a  forest,  or  into  an  uninhabited  island. 
I  once  thought  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines  was  a  true  event; 
but  by  Gad  I  now  think  that  it  was  the  ladies  themselves 
who  ran  away  with  the  Roman  vagabonds." 

After  this  abominable  scene,  he  would  retire  and  repeat 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      61 

it  somewhere  else ;  the  ladies — dear  creatures — ^l)eing  enrap- 
tured with  such  high  breeding  and  such  choice  wit. 

Congreve  was  "the  fashion,"  and  could  do  almost  any- 
thing. That  he  was  an  abandoned  and  dissolute  rake,  was 
a  matter  of  course.  To  be  so  was  one  of  the  main  accom- 
plishments of  a  fine  gentleman  of  the  period ;  and  the 
women  could  not  endure  a  man  who  lay  under  the  horrid 
suspicion  of  being  virtuous-  He  had  the  run  of  the  green- 
rooms, and  what  they  were,  and  are,  and  always  will  be, 
every  man  about  them  knows,  and  everybody  not  about  them 
may  guess.  He  raked  until  he  got  blind ;  now  with  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,  now  with  Nan  Jallett,  now  with  Madame  Ber- 
engcB,  now  with  Madame  Marlborough.  His  middle  age  was 
cursed  by  the  memorials  of  his  excesses.  Never  shall  I  forget 
a  scene  which  once  took  place  at  Hampton  Court  Palace, 
when  I  was  but  a  child.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  August, 
and  Lady  Mary  took  it  into  her  head  to  conduct  me  through 
the  gardens.  We  sauntered  about  for  some  time.  Con- 
greve joined  us,  and  was  elaborate  in  his  politeness.  He 
made  use  of  all  his  wit  to  charm,  and  finally  prevailed  on 
Lady  Mary  to  leave  me  near  one  of  the  fountains  and  walk 
with  him  alone.  My  heart  still  bums  with  the  rage  I  felt 
when  I  saw  them  disappear.  Instinct  told  me,  poor  boy — 
I  was  not  more  than  eight  years  old,  I  think — that  he 
meditated  no  good  to  my  mother,  but  I  knew  nothing 
farther.  Every  fibre  was  alive  and  hot  with  fury.  I  ran 
in  the  direction  which  they  had  taken,  but  I  could  not  find 
them.  I  called  aloud.  Echo  repeated  my  words,  and  yet 
again  I  called,  "Mammal  mamma!"  In  a  few  minutes 
Lady  Mary  appeared ;  she  seemed  in  haste ;  her  hair  was 
in  a  slight  disorder,  and  she  hurried  towards  me.  After 
her  followed  Congreve,  with  a  quick  step,  and  he  seemed 
apologizing,  beseeching,  deprecating.  She  hurried  on  with- 
out taking  any  notice  of  him,  and  when  she  came  up  to  me 
1  was  amazed  to  find  her  kiss  me;  her  face  was  flushed; 


SZ  EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

she  seemed  agitated  and  feverish.  Again  I  knew  that 
something  wrong  was  meditated,  and  I  looked  at  Congreve 
with  fury  in  my  looks.  He  saw  it,  and  gave  me  a  bunch 
of  roses  which  he  had  gathered,  and  had  already  vainly 
offered  to  Lady  Mary.  I  took  them  and  flung  them  in  his 
face ;  he  affected  to  smile,  but  there  was  rage  and  the 
venom  of  a  devil  in  his  false  smile. 

He  spoke  to  her  in  French,  a  language  which  I  knew 
not.  I  scanned  him  closely,  and  endeavored  to  penetrate 
into  his  meaning  with  my  eyes.  His  language  was  sup- 
plicating ;  his  demeanor  obsequious  in  the  extreme ;  he 
seemed  entreating  pardon  for  some  involuntary  offence. 
He  spoke  earnestly ;  she  affected  for  a  period  not  to  listen ; 
but  the  poison  gradually  stole  into  her  ears  and  won  her 
heart.  She  even  answered  him,  a  thing  which  she  had 
first  positively  refused  to  do.  I  could  see  a  smile  of  vil- 
lauous  triumph  in  his  ejes.  Again  he  led  her  away  under 
an  avenue  of  trees,  and  I  was  left  alone.  They  had  not 
been  out  of  sight  many  moments,  when  I  felt  as  if  envel- 
oped in  horror ;  my  heart  again  swelled  with  rage ;  lava 
fire  seemed  to  thrill  through  me.  I  was  under  an  unknown 
fever.  I  was  under  the  influence  of  a  mighty  magnetic 
spell.  A  consciousness  of  evil  again  smote  me,  as  if  with 
the  wing  of  a  whirlwind,  and  I  burst  into  a  toi'rent  of 
tears.  How  terribly  is  all  this  graven  on  my  memory ; 
now,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  half  a  century.  My  sobs, 
my  loud  cries  were  again  re-echoed,  and  Lady  Mary  re- 
turned as  before ;  but  now  she  was  filled  with  anger.  Con- 
greve again  followed,  and  I  could  see  his  face  pale  with 
rage,  or  disappointment,  or  repulse.  Lady  Mary  addressed 
me  harshl}',  but  I  clung  to  her  robe,  and  kept  a  firm  hold 
of  her.  I  entwined  myself  among  the  folds  of  her  dress ; 
she  sought  to  loose  me,  but  I  would  not  let  her  go.  Con- 
greve used  entreaties,  threats,  endearments,  and  finally, 
even  force,  but  I  kicked  at  him  with  all  my  strength,  and 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      63 

the  beau's  silk  stockings  bore  vestiges  of  my  toes.  At 
length  a  sudden  cloud  burst  overhead,  thunder  pealed,  and 
lightning  flashed,  and  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  Lady  Mary 
and  myself  returned  home,  without  Congreve,  whose  escort 
she  positively  declined,  and  who  took  his  leave  evidently 
chagrined,  if  not  enraged  at  something  that  had  crossed 
him. 

This  incident  is  slight,  but  I  never  can  forget  it.  I  have 
lived  it  over  again,  while  I  penned  the  last  few  pages ; 
every  line  and  feature  of  it  was  reproduced  before  my 
mind's  e3'e.  I  can  remember  even  the  dripping  of  the  rain 
on  a  certain  stone  which  Congreve  put  aside  with  his  gold- 
headed  cane.  I  can  remember  the  green  leaves  of  a  laurel 
tree  on  which  the  drops  flashed,  and  from  which  they  re- 
bounded against  my  face.  I  can  remember  the  momentary 
shelter  which  we  took  beneath  a  clump  of  trees,  and  my 
own  feeling  of  delight  that  the  storm  had  come  on,  and  my 
ardent  hope  that  the  next  lightning  flash  would  strike  my 
enemy  dead  at  my  feet.  When  he  came  near  me  I  went  to 
the  opposite  side ;  when  he  edged  round  again  and  sought 
to  speak  to  me,  I  retreated  from  his  odious  presence,  and 
got  back  to  my  old  place.  Why  was  he  thus  courting  me 
at  this  moment  ? — he  who  had  never  before  condescended 
even  to  look  upon  me  ?  M}-^  heart  asked  itself  this  ques- 
tion ;  and  though  I  can  now  guess  his  motive,  I  was  then 
only  a  child,  and  could  not  fathom  it  in  the  least.  He 
offered  me  some  apples,  but  I  flung  them  into  the  road ;  he 
presented  me  with  cakes,  but  I  trampled  them  beneath  my 
feet.  At  length  the  temper  of  the  man  prevailed,  and  I 
tliiuk  he  would  have  broken  out  with  something  savage, 
but  my  mother  or  her  presence  restrained  him.  I  saw  him 
man}'^  times  again,  at  our  own  house  and  at  the  houses  of 
others ;  but  I  always  hated  him  from  that  day.  I  could 
not  endure  his  presence ;  I  looked  at  him  with  loathing, 
and  fled  from  him  with  aversion,  until  at  length  we  grew 


64       EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

open  foes,  nor  did  either  mask  his  hate  from  the  other. 
When  I  heard  he  was  dead  I  regretted  it  only  for  one  rea- 
son, and  that  was  tliat  I  had  not  driven  a  sword  into  his 
heart.  The  grim  envoy  seemed  to  me  to  have  cheated  me 
of  that  which  belonged  to  me  of  right. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Though  the  Rt.  Hon.  Edward  Wortley  Montagu  grudged 
every  penny  that  he  expended,  and  parted  with  a  guinea 
more  sorrowfully  than  if  it  were  his  heart's  blood,  yet  was 
he  nevertheless  obliged  by  the  abominable  laws  and  cus- 
toms of  society  to  throw  his  doors  open  occasionally  for 
the  reception  of  the  most  brilliant  members  of  rank  and 
fashion,  whom  he  entertained  accordingly,  and  whom  he 
hated  like  fiends  as  they  devoured  his  costly  dainties  and 
guzzled  his  expensive  wines.  He  could  not  help  himself. 
He  and  his  ladj^  wife  were  asked  to  various  parties,  dinners, 
balls,  suppers,  breakfasts  and  masquerades.  To  refuse  the 
hospitable  givers  of  these  splendid  entertainments  would 
have  been  to  make  them  bitter  foes ;  to  accept  their  invi- 
tations entailed  the  dire  necessity  of  a  return  in  kind.  Had 
Mr.  Montagu  manfully  resolved  to  live  like  a  hermit  and 
do  nothing  but  reside  in  a  wood  and  accumulate  money, 
all  this  dreadful  folly  would  have  been  avoided.  But  un- 
happily for  himself  he  could  not  well  do  this.  He  was  a 
member  of  parliament,  and  he  did  not  like  to  give  it  up ; 
he  was  a  member  of  the  high  fashionable  world  of  wits  and 
fops,  and  fine  gentlemen,  and  he  could  not  separate  him- 
self from  such  exalted  intercourse  without  such  a  struggle 
as  he  scarcely  cared  to  endure;  he  was  an  aspirant  for 
ministerial  dignity,  and  it  was  only  Gincinnatus  who  was 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      65 

taken  fi'om  the  plough.  Nobody  ever  lieard  of  any  hermit 
in  England  being  put  into  the  Cabinet,  nor  would  he  be  so, 
though  he  possessed  all  the  virtues  of  Jesus  Christ,  all  the 
kuowledge  of  Pythagoras,  all  the  patriotism  of  Brutus,  and 
all  the  statesmansliip  of  Solon  and  Lycurgus.  Therefore 
it  was  that  my  honored  father  still  lived  in  Cavendish 
Square,  still  accepted  invitations  from  lords  and  ladies, 
and  still  was  forced  in  compliance  with  cruel  custom  to 
give  these  lords  and  ladies  what  lawyers  call  a  quid  pro 
quo. 

Oh !  what  scenes  these  were  I  Horace  it  is,  I  think,  or 
some  other  of  those  Roman  voluptuaries,  who  speaks  of 
certain  debauches  with  ladies  in  loose  purple  robes  and 
golden  clasps — that  were  unclasped — and  rosy  garlands, 
and  silver  goblets,  and  soft  couches,  and  I  know  not  what 
else — perhaps  it  is  well  I  do  not  know — and  he  irreverently 
calls  them  nights  and  suppers  of  the  gods.  But  these 
nights  I  suppose  of  my  father  were  nodes  csenueque  diaho- 
lorum,  for  not  only  were  all  the  noble  and  right  honorable 
company  fairly  entitled  to  that  name,  but  Mr.  Montagu 
himself  endured  such  an  agony  of  hell  during  the  whole 
entertainment  that  it  might  fairly  be  said  that  he  was  in 
Tartarus  itself,  and  enduring  all  the  torment  of  that  fabled, 
fabulous  or  storied  region,  which  ever  name  the  truly  Chris- 
tian reader  wishes  to  give  it.  Every  fresh  bottle  that  was 
uncorked  was  a  poisoned  adder  biting  his  soul ;  every  fresh 
pie  or  pasty  that  was  broken  into  by  fair  and  delicate 
hands  plunged  him  into  Hades ;  every  fragrant  pine  that 
was  sliced  was  a  cup  of  venom  which  he  was  obliged  to 
gulp  down  with  many  a  hidden  grimace.  With  what  a 
hearty  and  sincere  hatred  he  detested  these  odious  harpies ; 
how  he  wished  that  every  bit  and  sup  might  choke  tliem  as 
they  sat ;  how  he  cursed  and  swore  at  himself,  as  a  fool 
for  yielding  to  the  prevailing  fanaticism  of  society,  and 
blindly  following  in  the  wake  of  an  absurd  fashion.     This 


66      EDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

he  did  while  the  Saturnalia  were  going  on.  But  next 
morning  he  was  serene  again.  He  was  now  free  for 
another  three  months.  The  thing  was  over  and  done  with. 
His  mind  was  at  ease.  He  had  performed  his  duty,  and 
no  Englishman  is  expected  to  do  more.  The  bills — well 
they  must  be  paid,  and  they  were  paid  with  many  a  pang, 
and  blasphemy,  and  deduction ;  and  all  went  on  as  usual 
until  the  next  necessity  of  the  same  kind. 

Let  me  sketch  one  of  these  charming  entertainments. 
I  was  at  one,  and  only  one.  All  the  great  people  of  Lon- 
don were  summoned ;  all  the  fine  women,  all  the  battered 
rakes,  dukes,  marquisses,  earls,  viscounts,  barons,  with 
pedigrees — oh !  how  long,  and  bodies — oh  1  how  diseased, 
and  consciences — oh  1  how  black  with  every  kind  of  sin. 
Did  we  descend  to  the  vulgar  tribe  of  baronets  ?  Well,  I 
believe  there  were  a  few,  but  we  asked  them  simply  because 
we  could  not  help  it ;  Walpole  was  there,  but  he  was  in- 
vited not  as  baronet,  but  as  prime  minister.  My  father, 
indeed,  despised  the  whole  crawling  crew  of  little  barons, 
and  as  a  general  rule  they  are  a  contemptible  body  of  raga- 
muffins. However,  there  were  some  asked,  and  of  course 
they  came.  You  will  always  find  a  baronet  where  there  is 
a  prime  minister.  Half  the  peerage  thronged  our  rooms ; 
the  other  half  that  was  in  patriotic  opposition  was  not 
asked.  The  Duke  of  Wharton  came  drunk ;  Lord  Berke- 
ley, for  a  miracle,  came  sober.  Lord  and  Lady  Pomfret 
descended  like  a  radiant  vision  of  diamonds  of  the  rarest 
price.  Lady  Sundon  hid  her  cancer  by  a  fine  shawl  around 
her  throat.  Lords  and  Ladies  A,  B,  C,  D,  E,  P,  G,  H,  I, 
K,  L,  M  and  N,  appeared  in  various  costumes  of  red,  white, 
black,  blue,  grey,  brown,  orange,  scarlet,  azure,  pink,  green, 
and  crimson,  set  off  with  pearls,  rubies,  sapphires,  ame- 
thysts, opals,  emeralds,  and  gold  and  silver.  Lords  and 
Ladies  0,  P,  Q,  R,  S,  T,  U,  V,  W,  X,  Y,  Z,  flashed  and 
fluttered  in  silk,  satin,  velvet,  and  cloth  of  gold ;  they 


BDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      67 

appeared  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  a  great  many 
more  that  the  rainbow  never  had ;  their  periwigs  breathed 
the  sweetest  essences  of  perfumed  powder.  Talk  of  Araby 
the  Blest  or  Sabsean  odors — pooh !  pooh  I  Their  necklaces, 
buttons,  girdles,  earrings,  rings,  stomachers  and  coronets 
glittered  with  all  the  jewels  of  the  East,  and  their  faces 
shone  with  all  the  pigments  and  figments  of  the  western 
world.  Nothing  could  be,  indeed,  more  delightful  than 
the  whole  assembly ;  though  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  see 
and  smell  the  great  majority  of  them  just  now,  rotting  in 
their  coffins  and  half  eaten  up  by  worms.  I  mean,  of 
course,  such  of  them  as  did  not  die  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
and  were  not  embalmed  in  spice  and  frankincense,  as  all 
noble  and  right  honorable  persons  ought  to  be  ;  for  these 
earth  vermin  are  odious  to  think  of  by  all  who  have  aristo- 
cratic tastes  or  habits.  For  my  own  part  I  hope  to  be 
burned  on  a  pyre  like  a  phcenix,  and' so  give  the  elements 
the  benefit  of  my  remains — stap  my  vitals  1 

There  they  were,  and  oh  I  how  brilliant !  Talk  of  Para- 
dise, prate  of  Elysium,  brag  of  Valhalla,  expatiate  on 
Yaikoontha,  the  Hesperides,  Hybrazil,  the  Golden  Islands, 
the  heaven  of  Indra,  the  gardens  of  Shedad  or  Mohammed 
— the  whole  thing  would  be  absurd.  Never  was  there  seen 
a  more  grand  and  gorgeous  assembly.  Lord  Somers,  the 
chancellor,  left  the  lady  with  whom  he  was  living  in  open 
defiance  of  the  seventh  commandment  and  came ;  is  it  not 
Horry  Walpole  who  calls  him  "  one  of  those  divine  men 
who,  like  a  chapel  in  a  palace,  remain  unprofaned  while  all 
the  rest  is  tyranny,  corruption  and  folly."  Well,  this 
"divine  man  "  was  there,  and  the  place  was  redolent  of  his 
purity  and  divinity.  His  great  curly  wig  flowed  over  his 
heavy  sensual  face  and  great  gloating  eyes,  and  gave  one 
any  thing  but  an  idea  of  divineness.  But  hath  not  Horry 
said  it,  and  did  not  the  king  and  parliament  and  twenty 
writers  of  that  lie  called  history,  proclaim  it  in  highways 


6S      BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

and  byvraj'S,  and  who  shall  breathe  dissent  ?  Daniel  Finch, 
Earl  of  Nottingham,  was  there  ;  they  called  him  "  Dismal," 
and  a  dismal  old  frog  he  was.  Being  too  old  for  politics 
he  was  making  a  sacrifice  to  God  of  the  devil's  leavings, 
and  had  taken  to  theology.  Earl  of  Suffolk  was  there,  but 
he  I  think  was  deranged,  as  most  of  the  Howards  are ;  but 
he  did  not  bring  his  mad  work  called  "  Musarum  Deliciae, 
ideas  supposed  to  be  written  two  thousand  years  ago  by 
an  Asiatic  Poet,"  though  I  am  glad  to  say  he  quoted 
largely  from  it  to  all  whom  he  accosted,  and  thereby  added 
greatly  to  the  hilarity  of  the  evening.  In  fact  this  noble 
bard  realized  to  the  full  his  own  frenzied  description  of  a 
beau,  and  I  think  I  heard  that  profane  wag  Wharton 
pointing  him  out  to  half-a-dozen  women,  and  citing  his  own 
grotesque  verses  descriptive  of  that  wondrous  creature 
called  a  fop.  They  ran  something  in  this  wa}^,  and  I  print 
them  that  they  may  be  preserved,  for  I  fear  none  of  his 
Lordship's  works  will  ever  reach  "  Prince  Posterity." 

Adorned  with  silks  and  a  huge  flaunting  wig, 
He  proudly  tramps  and  looks  most  vastly  big; 
Struts  like  an  actor  on  the  Gallic  stage, 
And  boasts  himself  example  of  the  age, 
Though  by  his  leave  there  should  a  difference  be 
Betwixt  rude  fops  and  these  of  high  degree. 
A  lord  in  rich  embroidery  may  shine, 
Which  for  a  ninny  would  be  much  too  fine. 
Yet  let  the  saucy  fop  gold  laces  wear, 
On  him  they  will  but  tinsel-like  apjiear. 
And  as  the  learned  Erasmus  says,  an  ape 
An  ape  will  be,  though  tissue  clothe  his  sha}>e ; 
So  Hewett  for  the  beau  may  garments  frame, 
The  value  of  his  mind  is  still  the  same. 

Lord  Macclesfield  came  up  especially  from  Staffordshire 
and  figured  among  the  party.  He  had  been  found  guilty 
of  the  grossest  corruption,  fined  £30,000  and  his  name 
erased,  by  the  King  himself,  from  the  list  of  Privy  Coun- 
cillors ;  but  what  was  that  ?  It  had  been  popularly  said 
at  his  trial  before  the  House  of  Lords,  that  the  county 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      69 

of  Stafford  had  produced  the  three  greatest  rogues  and 
scoundrels  of  the  age,  Jack  Sheppard,  Jonathan  Wilde, 
and  Lord  Macclesfield;  but  what  was  that?  A  flea  bite, 
nothing  more.  Did  it  exclude  him  from  fashionable  soci- 
ety? Oh,  dear  nol  There  he  was,  with  plenty  of  money, 
a  peerage,  and  I  don't  know  what ;  certainly  with  plenty 
of  people  ready  and  willing  to  flatter  him  as  another  Cato 
of  Utica,  a  Socrates  wrongfully  accused  by  Anytus,  an 
Aristides  who  was  ostracised  only  because  he  was  so  just. 
Lord  Chief  Justice  Ra3rmond,  who  was  ready  to  hang  any 
man  at  the  bidding  of  Walpole  or  the  Bishops,  was  there 
also,  and  a  brave  and  noble  magistrate  he  was.  Any  one 
who  looked  into  his  eyes  could  see  that  they  were  intense 
with  roguery,  sneaking,  meanness,  and  servility ;  but  what 
of  that  ?  He  was  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench, 
and  so,  good  reader,  if  that  thou  canst  read,  I  have  no  doubt 
the  wise  public  thought  he  was  infallible,  and  he  himself 
believed  he  was  an  archangel.  But  the  curse  of  God  fell 
upon  him,  as  it  usually  does  upon  gentlemen  of  his  order, 
and  after  accumulating  wealth  all  his  life  by  the  basest 
means,  and  gaining  his  title  by  the  most  degrading  arts, 
he  left  both  to  his  son,  who  dying  without  issue,  the  peer- 
age became  extinct,  and  what  remained  of  the  money  went 
to  the  dogs. 

There  was  Lord  King,  the  son  of  a  Salter  in  Exeter,  who 
even  then  exhibited  marks  of  the  paralysis  under  which 
he  subsequently  died,  and  who  bored  everybody  with  his 
absurd  notions,  which  were  as  shallow  as  a  rain  puddle, 
and  not  a  bit  more  agreeable;  but  he  eat  and  drank  on 
them,  as  if  he  thought  he  could  cheat  the  devil  after  a 
life  of  chicanery,  by  a  finale  of  fanaticism ; — and  there  was 
George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne,  who  ran  into  the  oppo- 
site extreme  and  was  said  to  have  written  a  poem  on  the 
crucifixion,  in  Hudibrastic  verses,  in  which  the  narratives 
of  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John  were  pleasantly  traves- 
5 


70      EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

tied  a  la  Scar r on.  This  noble  lord  took  especial  delight  in 
hunting  poor  King  and  Dismal  about  like  their  shadows, 
and  disgorging  within  their  hearing  some  of  the  gay,  licen- 
tious, airy  blasphemies  which  were  so  fashionable  a  sport 
in  the  gallant  era  of  Charles  Stuart,  the  second  of  that 
name.  King  of  England,  France,  and  Ireland,  and  strqpuous 
Defender  of  the  Christian  Faith.  There  was  the  Earl  of 
Peterborough,  who  made  you  think  of  a  comet,  or  a  fire- 
work, or  a  quill  stuck  full  of  mercury,  so  wild,  erratic,  and 
eccentric  were  all  his  proceedings,  and  I  remember  well 
that  one  of  his  jests  on  this  occasion  was  pinning  the  wig 
of  His  Grace  the  Lord  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  the 
wig  of  that  right  reverend  Father  in  God,  the  Lord  Bishop 
of  London,  as  these  two  holy  men  sat  discussing  the  ques- 
tion of  a  pension  on  the  Irish  establishment,  for  one  of  the 
King's  cast-off  mistresses ;  and  when  they  rose  and  moved 
in  opposite  directions  great  was  their  dismay  at  finding 
that  they  unwigged  each  other. 

There  was  Charles  Howard,  Earl  of  Carlisle,  Governor 
and  Captain  of  Windsor  Castle,  with  the  cock-up  nose  and 
maudlin  eye  of  all  that  breed ;  and  Kitty  Sedley,  Duchess 
of  Buckinghamshire,  who  fancied  herself  the  off-shoot  of 
King  James  the  Second.  There  was  Tom  Paget,  who  was 
certainly  insane,  and  Jack  Hervey,  whom  Pope  immortal- 
ized as  Fanny,  Sporus,  and  I  know  not  what  else.  He 
wore  his  gold  key  as  Yice  Chamberlain  to  Her  Majesty, 
and  talked  smut  to  all  the  ladies  of  rank,  so  that  I  think 
the  old  Duchess  of  Marlborough  was  not  far  from  the  mark 
when  she  called  him  "the  most  wretched  profligate  man 
that  ever  was  born,  besides  ridiculous,  a  painted  face,  and 
not  a  tooth  in  his  head  " — or  a  truth  in  his  heart,  she 
might  have  added.  There  was  the  Earl  of  Gainsborough, 
who  had  just  won  a  large  wager  by  riding  naked  on  a  cow 
through  a  village,  to  the  great  edification  of  his  tenantry 
and  acquaintances,  but  not  at  all  to  his  damage  in  high- 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAaU.  71 

born  society,  or  with  the  fair,  fine  women  of  the  fashion ; 
and  there  was  Frances  Thynne,  Duchess  of  Somerset,  a 
short-nosed,  swarthy,  ugly  woman,  who  thought  herself  a 
poetess,  and  delighted  to  be  drawn  with  a  basket  of  flowers, 
a  shepherdess's  crook,  a  crescent  like  Diana,  or  any  thing 
else  absurd,  extravagant,  and  as  she  supposed,  romantic 
and  ideal.  There  was  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  better  known 
as  Tom  Empty,  and  the  Earl  of  Northington,  who  spoke 
the  language  of  a  costermonger ;  and  would  no  more  use  a 
decent  word  when  he  could  find  an  indecent  one  to  express 
his  thoughts,  than  he  would  have  gone  to  prayers  on  Sun- 
day, or  abstained  from  any  of  his  usual  vices  at  the  request 
of  a  parson  who  wanted  a  living,  and  so  desired  to  appear 
sanctimonious.  There  was  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  one  of 
the  weakest  of  men,  and  the  Duke  of  Manchester,  one  of 
the  meanest.  That  blundering  blockhead  Lord  Falmouth ; 
Lord  Pembroke,  who  could  scarcely  write  his  own  name, 
and  could  certainly  not  read  anybody  else's;  and  Lady 
Archibald  Hamilton,  who  had  an  unmentionable  place 
about  the  palace,  and  filled  Carlton  House  with  so  many 
Scotch  cousins  that  whenever  Lord  Chesterfield  met  any 
one  there  whom  he  did  not  know,  he  bowed  and  said, 
"Your  humble  servant,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton."  But  is 
it  necessary  to  give  a  catalogue  of  these  noble  and  illus- 
trious persons  ?  I  think  not.  I  leave  it  to  the  man  who 
makes  up  the  fashionable  column  for  the  Oentlemari's  Maga- 
zine^ so  called  in  irony,  because  I  believe  no  gentleman  yet 
ever  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it. 

The  conversation  of  these  high-bred  and  accomplished 
persons  of  quality  had  all  the  wit,  humor,  and  variety  which 
might  be  expected  from  their  antecedents.  The  politicians 
in  place  got  together,  and  devised  traps  for  the  opposition 
out  of  place;  the  bishops  consulted  about  their  next  fat 
dinner  and  jollification  in  mulled  claret ;  the  lawyers  con- 
sidered what  truckling  course  was  most  likely  to  advance 


72      EDWAED  WOETLEY  MONTAGU. 

them  a  step  in  the  peerage,  or  get  sinecures  for  their  sons, 
or  commissions  in  the  army  or  navy  for  theii*  daughters. 
The  simple  noblemen  conferred  about  getting  their  wives 
pensioned  on  the  Irish  establishment,  which  was  then  the 
general  receptacle  of  all  the  infamous  who  were  poor,  but 
had  blood. 

"  By  my  life,"  quoth  Lord  A to  the  Earl  of  B , 

"your  lordship  is  looking  young  again.  You  seem  to 
have  renewed  your  youth  like  the  eagles,  and  no  one  re- 
joices more  than  I  do  at  the  manifest  improvement  in  your 
health." 

"  I  am  honored,"  replied  the  Earl,  "  by  your  lordship's 
good  wishes,  and  I  certainly  am  glad  to  say  that  I  have 
not  felt  better  for  the  last  twenty  years.  I  am  pleased  also 
that  I  can  return  the  compliment,  for  your  lordship  never 
looked  more  vigorous." 

Now  the  real  thought  in  Lord  A.'s  heart  was  this,  though 
he  did  not  choose  to  express  it,  but  I  could  see  it,  for  I 
read  it  in  his  ejes." 

"Here  is  that  loathsome  old  voluptuary  B.  How  ab- 
surdly the  fellow  is  dressed  up.  He  apes  the  fashion  of 
youth,  and  no  doubt  fancies  that  he  exhibits  all  the  graces 
of  an  Adonis,  and  is  equally  irresistible  with  the  women, 
while  he  is  in  fact  uglier  than  Silenus  himself.  I  must  tell 
the  old  booby  I  am  glad,  for  his  wines  are  excellent,  and 
his  cook  one  of  the  best." 

And  the  real  answer  that  Earl  B.  ought  to  have  made 
was  this,  for  no  man  knew  the  value  and  sincerity  of  Lord 
A.'s  friendship  better  than  he  did. 

"  This  sneaking  sponge  is  scheming  for  an  invitation  to 
one  of  my  little  suppers,  and  I  suppose  I  must  ask  him, 
though  he  has  grown  so  silly  and  decrepid  of  late  that  I 
half  fancy  he  will  go  off  in  a  fit  at  one.  Faith  I  hope  he 
may ;  it  would  be  a  funny  sight  to  see  him  kick  his  last. 
He  makes  me  think  of  the  skeleton  at  the  Egyptian  feast, 


EDWARD  WOBTLET  MONTAGU,       73 

and  if  he  changes  into  one  at  our  next  meeting,  I  shall 
laugh  heartHy." 

"Ah!  my  dear  Tom,"  says  Lord  C.  to  the  Marquis  of 
D.,  "  how  delighted  I  am  to  see  you.  What  news  ? — what 
news?     How  is  the  little  Laura  ?" 

"Faith I"  says  the  Marquis,  "she  was  never  better. 
She,  and  I,  and  Jack  Bellamy,  and  Fanny  Flirtaway  had 
a  glorious  night  of  it  last  Wednesday.  We  all  got  drunk 
as  owls.  You  should  have  seen  how  Jack  tossed  and 
tumbled  like  a  posture  master,  till  I  thought  the  women 
would  have  fallen  into  fits.  For  my  own  part  I  laughed 
myself  into  convulsions." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  harlequin  ?" 

"  Why  after  going  through  ten  thousand  evolutions,  the 
last  more  absurd  than  the  one  preceding  it,  the  wine  got 
so  completely  the  upper  hand  of  him  that  he  tumbled  dead 
drunk  under  the  table ;  we  emptied  all  the  heel  taps  over 
him,  and  having  baptized  the  fellow  in  choice  Burgundy, 
left  him  there." 

"Exquisite — exquisite.  The  spectacle  must  have  been 
one  for  gods.  And  how  goes  the  affair  with  the  For- 
narina?" 

"  Why  the  unconscionable  little  Papist  asks  five  thou- 
sand pounds  down,  an  annuity  for  her  parents,  a  present 
to  the  father  confessor,  and  a  commission  in  the  Guards 
for  her  youngest  brother." 

"  Oh  1  outrageous !    Was  ever  heard  of  such  insolence  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  and  that  is  the  chief  reason  why  I  like 
her  so  well.  I  have  consented  to  all  her  terms  except  the 
last." 

"  But  if  she  persists  on  that  point  ?" 

"  Pooh — pooh  I  she  can't  persist.  By-the-by,  have  you 
seen  that  ugly  rat  Rutland  here  to-night  ?  K  there  is  anjr 
man  I  hate  it  is  that  fellow." 


74 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 


"  I  have  not  seen  him.  I  suppose  he  is  your  rival  with 
the  Fornarina  ?" 

"  Why,  yes — yes ;  the  ungainly  coxcomb  is  vain  enough 
to  aspire  to  her ;  but  she  laughs  at  him  in  the  drollest  way, 
and  throws  me  almost  into  hysterics  by  her  mimicrj'-  of 
his  absurd  grimaces.  Only  fancy,  the  fellow  vows  that 
he  will  leave  his  lawful  wife  and  go  abroad  with  the  For- 
narina, offering  her  a  cottage  and  himself  by  the  Lake  of 
Como.  She  is  willing  enough  to  take  the  first,  but  the 
last  is  worse  than  a  bolus,  and  so  Rutland  is  in  despair." 

"  And  what  does  his  wife  say  ?" 

"  Why,  like  a  sensible  woman,  she  consoles  herself  with 
Lord  Strut,  and  lets  her  liege  lord  blazon  his  folly  as 
widely  as  he  likes." 

Here  the  object  of  this  amicable  conference,  Rutland  him- 
self, suddenly  appeared — a  tall,  ugly,  thin  man,  resplendent 
with  the  blue  ribbon  of  the  most  noble  order  of  the  garter. 
As  he  approached  our  witty  acquaintances  the  faces  of 
both  brightened  with  the  most  loving  expression  of  refined 
friendship,  and  the  honorable  marquis,  who  had  just  called 
him  "  a  rat,"  and  so  cordially  avowed  his  hatred,  ran  up 
to  him,  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand  cried  out — 

"  My  dear  duke,  I  am  enchanted  to  see  you  here.  How 
is  the  charming  duchess  ?  I  cannot  tell  you  how  dis- 
appointed I  was  at  not  meeting  you  t'other  day  at  Court." 


CHAPTER    YII. 

But  I  grow  tired  of  this  high  life.  Trae,  it  was  the 
Elysian  Garden  of  Lady  Mary,  as  it  is  of  all  such  people. 
Her  husband  used  her  as  he  used  his  parties,  simply  to 
advance  his  own  interests ;  but  what  became  of  either  her 


EDWARD     WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  75 

body  or  soul  did  not  enter  much  into  his  greedy  thoughts. 
He  knew  well  the  kind  of  people  with  whom  he  was  living ; 
she  knew  them  also,  but  she  went  into  this  den  of  serpents 
without  the  slightest  heed  or  care  as  to  what  she  was 
doing ;  and  he  let  her  do  so  without  the  least  compunction 
in  his  heart  whether  she  conquered  or  was  crushed  in  the 
detestable  battle  that  was  waged  between  good  and  evil. 
They  met  perhaps  once  a  quarter.  As  a  general  rule  my 
father  lived  wholly  in  town,  and  my  lady  was  banished  to 
Twickenham  to  do  as  she  liked ;  but  when  the  era  of  balls, 
dinners  and  parties  was  on,  she  was  then  brought  to 
Cavendish  Square,  to  preside  over  his  table,  and  play  the 
amiable  hostess ;  after  which  she  was  again  scornfully  dis- 
missed to  the  banks  of  the  Thames ;  living  there  on  a 
stated  allowance ;  saving  out  of  her  sister's  annuity ;  and 
doing  the  duty  of  an  obedient  drudge ;  for  resistance  or 
rebellion  against  Mr.  Montagu  never  once  seems  to  have 
entered  into  her  thoughts.  Not  that  she  wanted  the  will. 
No,  by  the  gods  1  that  wopian  dared  not.  He  held  her  by 
some  invisible  iron  chain.  He  was  the  master  of  her  soul, 
the  despot  of  her  destiny;  and  though  she  absolutely 
loathed  him,  she  trembled  at  his  very  name.  He  himself 
vegetated  in  London  on  fifty  or  sixty  pounds  a  year,  and 
never  wrote  to  her,  or  seemed  even  to  think  that  such  a 
person  existed,  except  when  quarter  day  came,  and  then 
he  was  painfully  reminded  of  her  vitality.  I  often  wonder 
whether  he  hated  or  despised  her  most ;  but  I  think  the 
latter  was  his  predominant  feeling. 

Figure  to  yourself,  this  clever,  handsome,  passionate 
woman,  whom  all  other  mortals  of  the  male  sex  courted, 
and  all  other  goddesses  of  the  female  sex  envied,  thus  flung 
carelessly  upon  the  world ;  and  if  j-^ou  can  fancy  the  boiling 
pit  of  Tartarus,  with  ten  million  conflicting  damned  souls, 
you  can  then  form  some  idea  of  the  seething  cauldron  of 
her  heart.    I  don't  say  it  was  right  in  my  father  to  treat 


in  EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

his  wife  so,  but  he  had  his  own  reasons,  and  he  was  no 
fool.  I  have  no  doubt  he  acted  on  the  firmest  conviction 
that  he  was  behaving  properly ;  and  he  was  one  of  those 
snake-blooded  people  who  do  not  make  up  their  minds  to 
an  energetic  course  until  after  a  long  series  of  dubitations, 
but  who  when  they  are  resolved  are  as  inflexible  as  cold 
steel. 

These  meetings  were  like  the  clash  of  two  ice-bergs ; 
they  parted  without,  on  his  side,  even  the  decency  of  a 
farewell ;  though  my  lady  always  kept  up  appearances,  and 
smiled  and  shook  hands  with  apparent  fervor,  which  did 
not  deceive  her  lord,  though  I  suppose  she  vainly  hoped 
it  would.  He  never  even  affected  to  look  her  in  the  face, 
but  shunned  her  gaze  as  if  it  were  something  odious  and 
repulsive.  Yet  she  complained  not.  She  did  not  venture 
even  to  remonstrate.  In  my  own  opinion  he  would  have 
acted  much  more  mercifully  if  he  had  racked  or  bowstrung 
her  at  once,  according  to  approved  Eastern  fashion ;  but 
our  rascally  laws  prevent  this  course — and  why?  Why, 
that  we  may  torment  our  women  to  death,  and  make  their 
entire  lives  a  hell  upon  earth,  instead  of  disposing  of  them 
quickly,  which  is  the  benevolent  Turkish  mode.  Such 
favorites  are  women  with  the  laws  of  England ;  such  cruel 
powers  are  given  to  their  husbands  in  that  favored  land. 

I  have  described  one  scene  with  Congreve,  the  nature  of 
which  the  wise  may  conjecture.  We  saw  little  of  him  after 
that.  He  got  tired  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  vain  pursuit, 
and  took  up  with  the  mad  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  who 
had  her  father's  hot  blood,  without  one  particle  of  the  cool 
judgment  which  guided  or  restrained  it.  To  her  he  left 
his  fortune,  while  his  near  relations  starved  in  Stafford- 
shire. Let  me  now  paint  another,  and  the  last  of  these 
meetings  which  I  mean  to  describe.  It  was  with  Pope,  who 
still  persisted  in  his  folly,  notwithstanding  the  repulse  of 
his  dear  friend.    The  world  has  often  asked  itself  the 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       77 

canse  of  these  terrible  feuds  which  afterwards  raged  so 
violently  between  Lady  Mary  and  the  moral  bard  ?  Many 
suspected,  many  invented,  none  knew.  But  it  shall  be  no 
longer  ignorant.  I  was  an  accidental  witness  of  the  thing, 
and  here  it  is  developed  and  detailed. 

Suppose  yourself  at  Twickenham,  0  reader  of  a  future 
century,  in  the  golden  autumn  of  1724.  We  inhabit  a 
pretty  villa  by  the  river  side ;  the  swans  are  sailing  up  and 
down ;  the  silver  clouds  float  lazily  over  the  blue  arch ;  the 
sun  is  bright  with  eastern  splendor ;  the  air  is  balmy  with 
the  breath  of  flowers.  My  father  is,  as  usual,  in  London ; 
he  has  not  seen  my  mother  for  I  know  not  how  many  days, 
or  weeks,  or  perhaps  months,  though  she  has  incessantly 
sought  him  in  Cavendish  Square.  Pope  has  written  her  an 
enraptured  letter,  and  has  promised  us  the  distinguished 
honor  of  a  visit.  My  lady  is  in  her  best  brocade,  awaiting 
him  in  the  garden,  and  I  am  playing  with  some  china 
monsters  in  a  room  that  overlooks  the  sparkling  river. 
Suddenly  I  see  a  small,  distorted  man,  with  a  lean,  haggard, 
monkey  face,  blearing  eyes,  scarcely  any  hair,  a  thin, 
straight  nose,  and  coarse  mouth,  striding  with  a  long  and 
splay  foot  up  the  walk ;  his  back  is  bent,  his  body  crooked, 
his  fingers  long  and  like  a  vulture's  claws,  his  smile  satiri- 
cal, hollow,  and  sardonic,  and  his  whole  appearance  that  of 
an  obscene  bird  of  ill  omen.  He  is  dressed  in  a  black  velvet 
suit,  and  leans  on  a  gold-headed  cane.  This  is  Alexander 
Pope,  the  great  laureate  of  the  fashionable  world,  the 
Horace  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  ape-Apollo  of  the 
fair  and  frivolous. 

My  lady  went  to  meet  him,  and  received  him  with  an 
easy  grace.  He  bowed  with  all  the  air  of  a  polished  cour- 
tier of  the  highest  fashion ;  his  hat  was  in  his  hand,  his 
head  bent,  and  his  eyes  expressed  respect  and  deference. 
A  faint  smile  passed  over  his  pale  features,  and  after  a  brief 
parley  they  approached  the  room  where  I  was  playing. 


78      EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

Suddenly,  by  some  mischance,  I  tumbled  over  one  of  my 
ladj^'s  most  beloved  monsters ;  the  image  fell,  and  the  head 
■was  knocked  off.  I  almost  heard  the  footsteps  at  the  door. 
Dreading  a  scene  such  as  I  had  more  than  once  witnessed, 
and  a  well-boxed  pair  of  ears,  such  as  1  had  more  than  once 
felt,  I  picked  up  the  broken  china,  and,  with  a  heart  beat- 
ing quickly,  took  refuge  behind  a  painted  screen,  which 
masked  one  of  my  lady's  favorite  corners.  Scarcely  had  I 
ensconced  myself  than  the  door  opened,  and  Lady  Mary, 
accompanied  by  the  cringing,  flattering  dwarf,  whom  all 
England  delighted  to  honor,  made  her  appearance.  He 
had  evidently  squeezed  her  hand,  or  made  some  other 
overture,  for  I  could  see  her  face  was  more  suffused  than 
usual.  He  led  her  to  a  sofa,  and  seated  himself  beside  her. 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  began  as  fol- 
lows, in  a  low  and  deep  voice,  which  bore  at  least  the  sound 
of  earnestness.  I  could  see  and  hear  from  my  nook ;  the 
scene  impressed  itself  indelibly  on  my  mind.  Even  then 
I  began  to  look  with  hatred  on  the  sickening  little  troll, 
with  all  his  rhyming  art. 

"  Not  written,  or  sent,  or  visited,"  says  the  gentleman. 
"  What  can  possibly  detain  him  ?  Why  is  he  blind  to  the 
brightest  sun  ?" 

"  I  suppose  he  is  no  worse  than  all  your  statesmen  and 
politicians,"  answered  my  lady.  "  I  scarcely  ever  yet  knew 
one  of  them  that  was  not  an  owl.  They  are  so  wrapped  up 
in  their  own  little  dark  plots  that  they  can  see  nothing  else 
in  the  world." 

"  Then  it  is  your  ladyship's  opinion  that  love  has  taken 
refuge  with  poets  alone  ?"  said  Pope,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"I  have  scarcely  any  opinion,"  answered  she,  "about 
what  does  not  exist." 

"  What,"  cries  the  other,  "  do  I  live  to  hear  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  England  negative  the  existence  of  the 
universal  passion?" 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      79 

"  I  have  found  it  a  universal  fable,"  answered  she ;  "  I 
have  heard  much  of  the  thing,  but  have  never  seen  it  in 
actual  life.  I  have  read  of  it,  I  have  been  told  of  it — nay, 
why  should  I  deny  that  it  has  even  been  professed  to  my- 
self, with  many  an  ardent  oath ;  but  I  know  that  they  who 
were  most  loud  in  their  declarations  sought  simply  their 
own  amusement,  or  to  indulge  their  vanity.  I  could  read 
selfishness  in  their  eyes,  and  see  the  hollowness  of  their 
false  hearts,  though  they  thought  I  could  not." 

"  Your  lad3'ship  should  not  judge  of  all  mankind,"  says 
Pope,  "by  such  specimens  of  it  as  you  saw  at  Paris  or 
Vienna.  There  are  men  who  truly  love,  and  who  would 
devote  the  whole  of  their  existence  to  her  whom  they 
adore." 

The  lying  pigmy !  How  came  he  to  know  this  ?  Cer- 
tainly not  from  within. 

"Are  there?"  said  my  lady.  "What  a  pity  it  is  that 
they  are  not  exhibited!  The  whole  female  world  would 
flock  to  see  that  wonder  of  wonders — a  faithful  lover." 

A  faint  blush  passed  over  the  sickly  features  of  the  poet. 
Ho  then  resumed.  I  could  see  my  lady  play  with  him  as 
a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse. 

"  I  know  a  man,"  said  he,  "  who  loves,  and  loves  devot- 
edly. The  woman  he  worships  is  the  pride  and  glory  of 
her  sex.  She  is  more  beautiful  than  this  splendid  scene  of 
stream  and  wood  on  which  we  now  gaze ;  she  is  more 
bright  than  the  sky  lit  with  sunshine.  Her  wit  is  like  the 
diamond;  her  manners  enchant;  her  smile,  her  thoughts, 
her  words  are  music.  Unfortunately  for  him,  another  owns 
her,  who  prizes  her  not  at  all,  and  she  has  never  yet  given 
her  admirer  more  than  soft  words,  and,  perhaps,  at  times  a 
look  on  which  he  lives.  Yet  this  man — will  you  tell  me 
that  he  does  not  love  ?" 

My  lady  looked  at  the  absurd  dwarf.  She  knew  well 
whom  and  what  he  meant,  but  ehe  remembered  that  she 


W  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

was  a  duke's  daughter,  and  that  it  was  a  linen-draper'a 
son  who  ventured  to  talk  in  this  mad  way.  She  had 
amused  herself  with  his  folly,  and  plaj^ed  with  him — poor 
wriggling  trout — until  he  was  fairly  hooked,  and  thought 
himself  secure  of  the  gilded  fly.  It  was  a  fine  thing,  a 
polite  thing — and  this  woman  was  a  subtle  deviser — ^to  have 
Alexander  Pope  celebrating  her  in  prose  and  poetry,  dan- 
gling in  her  train,  and  telling  the  world  how  beautiful,  and 
great,  and  wise  she  was.  It  was  convenient  to  use  him  as 
her  flying  newsman,  to  extend  her  praises,  and  make  her 
loving  friends  grow  pale  with  envy.  But  this  was  all  my 
lady  ever  contemplated  from  him.  Had  he  been  a  handsome 
lord !  Well !  She  never  dreamed  the  poet  was  so  selfish 
as  to  demand  a  quid  pro  quo  for  all  this  fine  sentiment. 
She  now  looked  at  him  with  the  air  of  a  vestal,  as  if  she 
was  unable  to  comprehend  how  any  man  could  love  a  mar- 
ried woman ;  as  if  she  had  not  that  very  day  penned  to 
Lady  Pomfret  a  letter  all  profligacy  and  scandal ;  but  her 
air  did  not  deceive  her  companion,  who  was  as  quick  and 
keen  as  a  weasel  or  a  ferret,  and,  indeed,  at  this  moment 
he  gave  me  a  vivid  idea  of  one  or  both.  For  I  began  to 
hate  him,  with  a  child's  passion.  I  could  feel  my  blood 
boil,  and  my  veins  throb.  I  longed  to  rush  out-  and  brain 
him  with  the  broken  monster,  which,  by  the  way,  seemed 
much  handsomer  than  this  enamored  minstrel. 

"  How  can  this  wretch,"  I  thought,  "  dare  to  talk  in  this 
way  in  my  presence  ?     Am  I  not  her  son — her  guardian  ?" 

I  forgot  that  I  was  an  infant,  and  unseen. 

"And  who,"  inquired  my  lady,  "may  this  wonderful 
man  be  ?" 

"  You  see  him  before  you,"  answered  the  poet,  in  a  low, 
deep  tone,  and  with  an  earnest  look,  that  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  reality — the  devil  under  an  angel's  sem- 
blance. 

"  Lor !  bless  me  1"  she  answered,  "  I  never  should  have 


BDWAKD  WOKTLEY  MONTAQU.      81 

thought  it.  I  supposed  that  Swift  and  Fermor,  your  grotto 
and  the  muses,  were  all  you  cared  for." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  you  do  not  know  my  heart.  Would 
that  you  did !" 

But  Lady  Mary  knew  it  well.  She  had  seen  into  the 
little  dirty  nook ;  she  had  probed  its  inmost  depths ;  she 
saw  vanity,  falsehood,  scorn,  and  selfishness  in  that  deep, 
hollow  cavern,  which  the  poet  now  pretended  was  all  her 
own ;  she  knew  that  all  he  was  telling  or  had  told  her  was 
a  lie,  gotten  by  heart,  and  repeated  to  half  a  score  of  silly, 
pretty  women  by  this  Devil  on  Two  Sticks  of  a  bard. 

"  You  talk,"  said  he,  "  of  Swift,  as  if  there  could  be  any 
real  sympathy  between  that  misanthropist  and  myself. 
You  speak  of  Fermor,  but  she  thinks  only  of  Lord  Petre, 
who  is  but  half  a  man ;  of  the  muses,  but  I  care  not  for 
them ;  of  my  grotto,  but  I  find  no  pleasure  in  it. 

"  Ah,  friend  !  'tis  true,  this  truth  you  lovers  know, 
In  vain  my  strncturcs  rise,  my  gardens  grow, 
In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  doul)le  sceneg, 
Of  hanging  mountains  and  of  sloping  greens; 
Joy  lives  nut  iicre ;  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 
And  only  dwells  where  Wortley  casts  her  eyes." 

The  hateful  little  hatter  murmured  this  in  a  way  irre- 
sistibly comical.  I  have  no  doubt  he  thought  it  would  be 
pathetic  in  the  extreme ;  but  Lucretia  was  not  more  insen- 
sible to  the  name  of  Tarquin  than  Lady  Mary  was  to  the 
raptures  of  her  misshapen  admirer.  She  afi'ected  to  listen 
with  surprise,  and  still  to  wonder  who  he  meant.  The 
bard  took  hope.  He  had  ventured  thus  far,  and  had  not 
been  brained  with  her  ladyship's  fan,  or  given  over  to  the 
kicks  of  John  Footman. 

" Charming  Lady  Mary,"  he  cried,  "can  you,  indeed,  be 
ignorant  of  her  who  is  the  bright  morning  star  of  my  heart 
and  love ;  on  whom  my  thoughts  and  feelings  have  dwelled 
for  years ;  who  came  before  me  like  a  radiant  vision  of 
youth  iu  the  dark  Hades  of  London  life,  and  filled  me  with 


$S      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

her  presence  like  a  splendor  ?  Oh !  how  I  have  loved  you, 
and  longed  to  tell  you  so — dreamed  of  you  when  you  were 
afar  off;  lived  upon  your  image ;  panted  to  behold  you  once 
again,  and  to  pour  forth  the  passion  of  my  life.  Your  por- 
trait by  Kneller,  which  I  have  hung  up  opposite  to  where  I 
always  sit,  is  but  a  poor  substitute  for  her  whom  I  adore. 
Give  me  but  your  heart,  and  believe  me  to  be  wholly 
yours." 

And  the  writhing  imp  absolutely  fell  on  his  knees  before 
her. 

But  here  an  event  happened,  the  most  unromantic  pos- 
sible. The  little  man  was  never  vigorous ;  he  was  at  this 
time  weak  in  health  and  feeble  about  the  knees,  though  he 
professed  love  like  Hercules  himself.  As  he  slipped  grace- 
fully to  the  fair  feet  of  his  princess,  he  fell  on  the  floor  and 
sprawled  before  her  in  the  most  undignified  manner.  He 
even  rolled.  It  was  as  if  Nemesis  had  knocked  the  lying 
little  baboon  on  the  head  in  pure  spite.  This  was  too 
much  for  Lady  Mary.  That  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
which  no  woman  ever  possessed  in  greater  perfection,  was 
immediately  called  into  play.  The  contrast  between  the 
impassioned  poet  and  the  sprawling,  rolling  manikin  on 
the  carpet,  who  looked  all  confusion  and  mortification, 
appeared  so  striking,  that  she  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  un- 
feeling laughter,  which  sounded  in  Alexander's  ear  like  his 
death-knell.  The  woman  who  could  thus  sport  with  his 
deformity  he  knew  at  once  never  could  be  his.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  very  eyes — not  red,  but  black,  envenomed, 
yellow,  snaky  blood.  He  raged  and  writhed  like  a  mad- 
man. He  sought  to  scramble  to  his  legs,  in  some  imp-like 
fashion,  but  failed,  and  his  appealing  glance  to  my  lady 
for  assistance  was  answered  only  by  another  burst  of  ring- 
ing laughter.  The  bell  sounded,  a  servant  entered,  and 
with  ill-concealed  mockery — perhaps  he  had  been  listening 
— lifted  up  the  nightingale  of  Twickenham.    No  word  did 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  83 

he  speak — I  suppose  he  could  not.  He  did  not  bow  or 
look  farewell ;  but  hastened  out  of  the  room  with  a  fury 
gnawing  his  heart.  My  lady's  clear  and  silvery  laugh 
accompanied  his  flight,  and  goaded  him  like  a  poisoned 
arrow.  Never  was  a  love  scene  ended  so  ridiculously.  As 
he  hobbled  down  the  garden,  he  could  hear  her  singing, 

"Cease,  fond  shepherd,  cease  desiring 

What  you  never  can  enjoy ; 
She  derides  your  vain  aspiring, 

She  to  all  your  sex  is  coy. 
Cunning  Damon  once  pursued  her, 

Yet  she  never  would  incline; 
Strephon,  too,  as  vainly  wooed  her, 

Though  his  flocks  are  more  than  thine." 

And  here  her  silvery  scornful  laughter  rang  again. 

Pope  turned  round ;  there  was  a  grinning  devil  in  his  face. 

"  Woman !"  he  cried  out,  "  vile,  heartless,  deceitful ! 
You  shall  rue  this  to  the  end  of  time.  I  will  cover  your 
name  with  ignominy ;  I  will  unmask  your  profligacy  before 
tlie  world.  What!  you,  the  woman  of  the  seraglio,  the 
jest  of  Wharton,  the  deceiver  of  your  husband,  the  plun- 
derer of  Ruremonde,  the  gambler  on  the  Exchange,  with 
every  foul  conceit  abiding  in  your  heart,  vicious  as  a 
Roman  empress,  corrupt  in  every  thought  that  passes 
through  your  brain — think  you  that  I  did  not  know  you 
as  you  are  ?  Yea,  I  did,  indeed ;  and  so  shall  the  world 
see."  And,  shaking  his  fist,  he  turned  round,  while  Lady 
Mary  still  laughed ;  but  her  mirth  now  seemed  hollow  and 
feigned. 

And  now  all  was  over  between  this  amiable  pair.  They 
never  again  met  as  friends,  but  always  as  deadly  enemies, 
each  bent  as  if  on  the  ruin  of  the  other.  The  poet  lam- 
pooned the  lady;  the  angry  fair  one  libelled  the  poet. 
Pope  invented  lies  and  gave  them  circulation.  My  mother 
was  equally  fertile  in  calumny  and  cunning.  Both  parties 
were  to  blame ;  he,  for  laboring  as  he  had,  to  withdraw  a 


84      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

wedded  dame  from  her  loyalty ;  she  for  even  appearing  to 
encourage  his  base  pursuits.  An  accident  had  foiled  him, 
and  perhaps  preserved  her,  for  the  moment,  at  least,  from 
him.  The  labors  of  years  had  vanished  in  a  trice.  For 
any  one  who  has  read  his  letters  to  Lady  Mary,  written 
while  she  was  abroad,  and  after  her  return  home,  can  have 
but  one  feeling,  and  that  must  be  of  mingled  scorn  and 
disgust  for  this  puling  hunch-back,  who  omitted  no  art  of 
flattery  or  insinuation  to  debauch  her  heart  and  poison  her 
mind,  and  make  her  an  easy  prey  to  his  advances.  I  have 
read  them  over  and  over  again,  as  they  have  been  co^Died 
into  one  of  her  note-books ;  and  at  each  perusal  my  heart 
was  fire.  Had  I  been  able  at  this  moment,  pitiless  for  his 
discomfiture,  I  could  have  torn  him  in  pieces.  But  I  was 
so  thunderstruck  at  the  scene  that  I  was  speechless.  I 
suppose  I  made  some  noise,  for  all  that  I  recollect  next  was 
seeing  my  mother  stand  before  me,  with  rage  in  her  eyes, 
and  flame  flashing  out  of  every  feature.  I  was  covered 
with  confusion.  I  pointed  to  the  broken  monster,  but  she 
evidently  believed  that  I  had  deliberately  concealed  myself. 
From  that  moment  till  her  death  she  detested  me.  She 
did  not  speak,  she  did  not  pause  to  think,  but  with  one 
blow  felled  me  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   YIII. 

My  father's  house  was  now  no  more  a  home  for  me.  I 
was  sent  to  school,  oh  I  terrible  reminiscence.  Now  began 
my  days  and  nights  of  misery.  For  the  silvery  river,  the 
green  leasowe,  the  garden,  wood,  or  bower,  I  was  immersed 
in  a  horrid  dungeon,  flogged  by  a  detestable  wretch,  whose 
name  was  Casey,  and  who  as  he  laid  the  lash  over  my  back, 


EDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAQTI.  85 

grinned  with  a  fiend's  delight,  till  the  fire  leaped  out  of  his 
dark  eyes.  Every  morning  regularly  I  was  stripped  to  my 
shirt,  hoisted  on  the  back  of  a  boy,  and  belabored  with  a 
cane,  till  my  shrieks  re-echoed  through  the  long  room,  and 
I  writhed  in  bloody  agony.  When  I  complained  to  my 
mother,  I  got  nb  sympathy,  but  a  cool  assurance  that  if  I 
were  not  so  great  a  rascal,  dunce  and  liar,  I  should  fare 
better.  I  was  not  alone,  indeed,  in  my  misery.  Our  school 
was  a  field  of  blood.  We  suffered  like  galley-slaves  under 
the  whip,  and  were  fiends  and  tyrants  to  one  another.  It 
was  horrible  to  hear  our  cries  and  screams  when  the  hour 
of  torture  came ;  but  we  might  as  well  have  attempted  to 
melt  the  marble  sphynx  of  Egypt  into  sympathy  as  thig 
hardened  cannibal,  Casey,  whose  name  I  thus  preserve  in 
pickle  as  an  example  to  future  pedagogues. 

One  day,  as  I  suppose,  I  had  been  more  indolent  than 
usual,  and  the  master  was  determined  to  make  an  example 
of  me.  The  fact  was  I  was  sick  of  my  life,  and  I  scarcely 
cared  to  learn  a  lesson.  When  I  knew  it  well,  I  got  no 
praise;  when  I  knew  it  indifferently,  I  was  mercilessly 
flogged.  It  was  a  lesson  in  English  Grammar,  wholly  un- 
interesting to  the  mind  of  a  boy.  And  I  had  now  fed  my 
fancy  on  works  of  imagination — "  The  Seven  Champions 
of  Christendom,"  "The  History  of  Prince  Arthur,"  and 
the  marvellous  adventures  of  "  Robinson  Crusoe ;"  so  that 
it  required  something  more  entertaining  than  nouns,  pro- 
nouns, or  prepositions,  their  rise,  history  and  use,  to  im- 
press any  thing  about  them  upon  my  memory.  Casey 
prepared  himself  for  the  task.  He  pulled  up  his  coat-cufl"s, 
and  exposed  his  great  heavy  hands  and  wrists,  which  were 
not  very  clean.  He  wielded  a  large  flexible  cane,  which 
was  four  feet  long.  I  was,  as  usual,  commanded  to  strip. 
I  did  so,  for  resistance  was  useless,  and  I  was  subdued  and 
tamed  into  a  negro's  submissiveness.     I  was  then  hoisted 

on  the  back  of  the  strongest  and  biggest  boy  in  the  ■chool. 
6 


88      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

The  first  lash  shot  through  my  tender  frame  as  I  have  seen 
a  mighty  wave  leap  upon  a  small  ship,  until  every  plank 
quivers  with  the  dreadful  shock,  and  she  seems  to  have  got 
her  death-blow.  So  ran  that  thrill  through  every  muscle, 
vein  and  fibre.  I  quivered  beneath  it.  A  fierce  delight 
appeared  to  animate  and  nerve  Casey's  arm.  He  flogged 
and  flogged  apparently  forever,  until  the  boy  on  whose 
back  I  was  at  length  flung  me  down,  and  saying  he  would 
serve  no  longer,  escaped  into  a  comer.  I  fell  on  the  floor; 
Casey  still  struck  me  savagely.  I  clung  about  his  legs  and 
knees ;  I  screamed,  I  implored  mercy ;  I  made  a  thousand 
promises.  Frenzy  seemed  to  seize  him.  He  would  not,  or 
he  could  not  cease.     The  whole  demon  was  upon  him. 

At  length  I  fainted ;  I  foamed  at  the  mouth.  I  remained 
senseless  for  an  hour.  I  was  subsequently  told  that  Casey 
then  got  frightened,  and  bathed  my  head  and  limbs  with 
cold  water  and  other  restoratives,  but  in  vain.  I  was 
carried  home  on  a  litter  and  lay  in  bed  for  several  weeks, 
not  quite  sane,  as  I  have  since  heard — certainly  with  only 
a  dim  recollection  of  what  I  had  endured.  Nature  took 
compassion  on  me,  and  dipped  the  horrid  scene  in  Lethe. 
My  mother  never  came  near  me  after  the  first  day.  She 
said  it  was  only  what  a  dunce  and  a  liar  deserved,  and  I 
was  left  wholly  to  the  care  of  servants.  I  verily  believe 
she  would  have  sent  me  back  again  when  I  recovered,  but 
one  of  her  sisters,  my  Aunt  Evelyn,  interposed ;  and  I  was 
rescued,  almost  by  chance,  from  the  fangs  of  this  accursed 
wretch. 

A  brief  interval  now  passed  before  I  was  again  sentenced 
to  hell.  Alas  1  that  it  should  have  been  so  brief.  I 
lingered  by  the  sunny  banks  and  watched  the  fish  disport- 
ing. I  wished  to  join  them.  They  had  no  lessons,  no 
grammar,  no  pedagogues  among  them.  I  did  not  know  or 
think  that  even  they  had  their  tormentors,  their  Caseys  in 
the  shape  of  pikes.    They  seemed  so  happy  in  the  sun  that 


EDWARD     WOETLEY     MONTAGU.  87 

I  have  often  felt  tempted  to  leap  in  and  join  in  their  play. 
Again  I  looked  up  into  the  sky.  The  birds  sang;  every 
blooming  spray  danced,  to  their  delight ;  their  whole  hearts 
seemed  bursting  with  ecstacy.  I  went  over  my  favorite 
books  of  adventure  and  romance,  and  from  their  contrast 
with  the  jail  from  which  I  had  been  rescued,  derived  a 
novel  interest.  I  fancied  myself  a  hero,  a  knight,  a  prince, 
an  enchanted  wanderer  in  enchanted  lands.  What  marvel- 
lous exploits  I  performed ;  what  castles  I  besieged,  what 
giants  I  slew ;  what  royal  damsels  I  delivered  from  bond- 
age. The  whole  earth  possessed  not  such  a  hero ;  the 
whole  of  Christendom  resounded  with  my  glory.  I  was 
the  favorite  champion  of  all  the  feeble.  I  was  the  honored 
guest  of  kings  and  emperors ;  magicians  trembled  at  my 
name ;  the  most  fell  enchanters  owned  their  weakness  when 
in  my  golden  armor  I  appeared,  and  thundered  at  their 
brazen  forts  or  battlements  of  steel.  Suddenly  these  faerie 
dreams  were  dispelled,  and  I  was  again  informed  that  I 
must  prepare  for  school.  Horror  seized  me.  I  felt  like 
Job  when  that  Spirit  which  made  the  hair  of  his  flesh 
stand  up  passed  before  his  eyes — "Fear  came  upon  me 
and  trembling,  which  made  all  my  bones  shake."  I  had 
five  guineas  in  my  pocket — ^the  wealth  of  Croesus  to  a  boy 
— with  which  I  immediately  made  a  flight  to  Oxford. 
This  was  in  1725.  I  found  myself  in  the  High  street.  It 
was  fair  time.  The  place  was  filled  with  booths,  puppet 
shows  and  menageries,  and  seemed  to  offer  an  inexhaus- 
tible source  of  joy.  As  I  was  gazing  on  these  wonders,  a 
tall  youth,  with  a  merry  eye  and  lip,  a  long  nose,  and  an 
arch  smile,  came  up  and  said,  "  Hallo !  Wortley,  what  are 
you  doing  here  ?" — dragged  me  away  into  one  of  the  pup- 
pet shows.  It  was  my  cousin,  Harry  Fielding,  then  a 
youth,  only  a  little  older  than  myself,  who  had  made  a 
nearly  similar  escape  from  Eton,  but  with  not  so  well  filled 
a  purse.    We  both  recounted  our  adventures  to  each  otherj 


88  EDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

and  laughed  heartily  at  the  fancied  dismay  of  our  parents. 
We  went  from  show  to  show,  devouring  ginger-bread,  nuts 
and  apples,  until  we  were  entirely  gorged ;  Fielding  draw- 
ing on  me  as  if  I  were  old  Drummond  the  goldsmith,  and 
scattering  about  our  silver  among  the  columbines  and 
clowns — ^the  former  of  whom  he  kissed  and  cuddled  to  the 
immense  delight  of  the  populace,  while  he  joked  with  the 
latter  in  the  broadest  style;  which  produced  peals  of 
laughter  from  the  chawbacons  and  their  sweethearts.  I 
think  we  passed  the  night  in  a  round  house,  but  we  both 
drank  so  much  wine  that  I  can  scarcely  say  with  certainty. 
The  debauch,  however,  was  unlucky,  for  the  constables 
having  discovered  who  we  were,  communicated  the  fact  to 
some  of  the  dons,  and  we  were  both  next  day  packed  back 
to  our  respective  houses,  under  the  guardianship  of  one  of 
the  preservers  of  the  peace,  who  gave  us  many  a  sage  ad- 
monition on  the  road,  to  which  I  fear  we  paid  no  attention. 
My  Lady  Mary  received  me  with  her  usual  demonstration 
of  love — a  hearty  flogging — I  was  now  eleven  years  old — 
and  confined  me  to  my  room  on  bread  and  water  for  three 
days,  when  I  was  removed  in  custody,  only  not  handcuffed 
or  chained,  to  another  ph3'sician  of  the  mind. 

My  new  master  was  one  Porter ;  he  was  LL.D.  of  some 
university,  but  I  think  it  was  Satan  conferred  on  him  his 
degree.  He  was  tall,  thin,  and  slightly  gray -haired.  His 
eye  was  like  a  piece  of  stone ;  there  was  a  frigid  light  in 
the  lower  part  of  it  which  made  one  shudder.  His  mouth 
was  hard  and  firm ;  his  forehead  showed  self-conceit ;  his 
bearing  was  quick,  despotic,  and  unfeeling.  He  was  an 
accomplished  man^  but  a  most  hardened  scoundrel.  His 
torture  was  refined ;  it  was  wholly  different  from  Casey's. 
The  latter  was  a  vulgar  brute,  who  merely  tormented  the 
body ;  but  Porter  was  a  subtle  inquisitor ;  he  spared  your 
flesh,  but  made  your  heart  and  spirit  writhe.  He  filled  you 
with  self-contempt,  self-loathing ;  he  looked  at  you  as  if 


EDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAaU.  89 

you  w,5re  some  misshapen  beast ;  he  grinned,  he  sneered, 
he  curled  his  lip  in  scorn,  until  you  felt  disposed  to  fall  on 
your  knees,  and  ask  the  rod  in  mercy.  Never  was  any 
wretchedness  greater  than  that  which  we  endured  under 
this  miscreant.  We  hated  him,  we  detested  ourselves ;  the 
whole  world  seemed  one  vast  theatre  of  horror.  This 
mental  slavery  was  perfect  in  its  way.  I  have  read  of  a 
man  who  was  put  into  a  hollow  pillar,  which  was  gradually 
heated  to  a  white  glow,  and  the  wretch  expired  piecemeal.  In 
such  a  pillar  I  seemed  to  move  and  abide  under  this  odious 
villain,  until  I  quivered  with  affright  when  I  heard  his  foot 
ascend  the  stairs,  or  listened  to  his  harsh  voice  echo  through 
the  house.  It  gave  me  the  notion  of  the  links  of  a  chain 
used  only  to  fetter  criminals,  and  lead  them  to  execution. 
This  was  our  classical  teacher;  in  mathematics  we  were 
under  the  tuition  of  a  fellow  named  Douglas,  a  vulpine 
colored  knave.  I  hated  him  the  moment  I  saw  him.  You 
will  ask  me  why  ?  It  was  not  merely  from  a  boy's  impul- 
sive instinct,  but  his  breath  stunk  horribly ;  it  was  some- 
thing rank,  putrid,  most  offensive.  My  nerves  and  organs 
were  finely  constituted ;  this  defect  disgusted  their  delicacy, 
and  I  never  could  bear  to  go  near  him.  Yet  near  him  I 
was  forced  to  go,  and  this  also  constituted  a  new  and  most 
dreadful  punishment.  Mathematics  I  hated ;  Euclid,  alge- 
bra, arithmetic — all  the  horrid  jargon  of  science  were  odious 
to  me.  I  failed  and  failed,  and  utterly  failed,  until  Douglas 
gave  me  up ;  he  treated  me  with  contempt,  and  telling  me 
"  I  should  never  set  the  Thames  on  fire,"  he  gave  his  worst 
mark,  with  a  satirical  and  contumelious  grin  that  entered 
into  my  soul.  Why  did  he  not  honestly  tell  me  that  I 
could  not  learn  the  rubbish?  Because  he  revelled  so 
heartily  in  the  suffering  of  others,  and  took  such  a  dislike 
to  me,  from  the  antipathy  of  our  two  natures,  that  he  could 
not  bear  to  relinquish  the  power  of  punishment  which  liis 
tutelage  oyer  me  gave ;  and  he  took  vengeance  on  me  be- 


90       EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

cause  he  saw  me  turn  away  my  face  every  time  he  came 
near  and  breathed  balefully  upon  me.  I  would  rather  have 
borne  the  hardest  blow  at  any  time  than  have  inhaled  this 
serpent's  odor.  I  shrank  from  it.  He  saw  this.  If  he 
knew  why  I  did  so,  I  suppose  he  hated  me  the  more ;  a 
personal  defect  discovered  inflicts  pain  on  the  possessor  of 
it,  which  he  repays  with  an  und3dng  thirst  of  vengeance. 

Five  days  in  every  week  we  were  subjected  to  these 
dreadful  ordeals.  On  the  sixth  day  (Saturday)  was  our 
day  of  judgment;  the  marks  of  the  whole  week  were  then 
added  up.  We  had  what  were  called  judgment  books,  in 
which  all  our  shortcomings  for  all  the  preceding  days  were 
noted  under  separate  heads.  These  were  computed,  and 
according  to  our  approach  to  or  retrocession  from  a  fixed 
number,  which  was  the  perfect  one — I  think  it  was  thirty 
— was  our  corporeal  chastisement.  For  fancy  not,  0  won- 
dering reader,  that  bodily  correction  was  banished  from 
this  academic  grove.  By  no  means,  but  it  was  in  a  different 
department.  A  man  named  Hamblin,  who  was  Porter's 
partner  in  the  establishment,  was  the  executioner.  Porter 
and  Douglas,  having  wasted  all  their  spite,  and  tormented 
your  mind  till  it  could  endure  no  more,  then  handed  you 
over  to  the  hangman,  who  was  to  finish  you  off  and  dismiss 
you  to  the  Sabbath-day,  with  a  temper  beautifully  attuned 
for  the  Sunday  lesson  of  charity,  mildness,  peace,  and 
good-will  to  all  men.  We  were  paraded  in  a  long  line 
before  Hamblin ;  each  trembling  truant  with  his  judgment 
book  in  his  hand ;  the  minister  of  punishment  at  our  head, 
with  his  long  whip.  Each  Avas  examined  in  turn,  each  was 
flogged  according  to  his  book,  and  then  sent  off  with  a 
satirical  courage^  mon  avii,  from  the  hangman,  which  seemed 
the  bitterest  of  all.  Why  we  did  not  drown,  or  hang,  or 
shoot  ourselves  seems  now  a  mysterj''  to  me  ;  but  it  is  won- 
derful what  an  amount  of  suffering  boys  will  endure  before 
they  finally  rebel. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      91 

All  my  days  during  this  period  were  days  of  misery. 
Night  brought  me  no  repose.  I  slept  in  a  long  attic  all 
alone,  and  soon  discovered  from  the  servants'  talk  that  the 
house  was  haunted.  They  had  the  most  curious  tales  of 
horror.  I  listened  to  these  till  my  blood  ran  cold,  and  I 
could  feel  it  like  a  frozen  rivulet  in  my  heart.  Hamblin's 
wife  had  a  mark  under  her  left  eye,  a  slight  mark,  like  a 
scar,  and  when  you  looked  at  it  but  for  a  second,  she  winced 
under  your  glance  as  if  in  dread.  I  once  asked  the  girl 
who  most  usually  attended  me  what  it  was,  and  heard  as 
follows : 

"  Misses's  father  was,  they  say,  a  parson  somewhere  in 
the  north,  and  though  one  of  the  cloth,  was  as  bad  a  man 
as  the  country  held.  He  was  covetous,  too,  like  all  parsons, 
and  always  greedy  after  money ;  so  that  some  folks  did 
say  he  was  ready  to  sell  his  soul  to  the  devil  for  pelf;  but 
for  my  part,  I  do  not  believe  that  the  devil  is  fool  enough 
to  give  money  for  any  mortal  souls,  when  he  can  get  so 
many  on  'em  for  nothing.  However  this  may  be,  there 
was  a  kitchen  garden  attached  to  his  glebe  house,  and  this 
garden,  like  a  grasping  old  huncks  as  he  was,  he  began  to 
extend  from  time  to  time  into  the  churchyard,  which  was 
one  of  great  extent,  and  when  the  horses  were  ploughing 
it  up  they  disturbed  the  bones,  and  smashed  in  the  coffins, 
and  broke  the  skulls,  and  knocked  the  dead  about  in  the 
most  shameful  manner.  And  his  wife,  misses's  mother, 
wept  sorely,  and  did  all  she  could  to  change  the  avaricious 
old  brute;  but  he  went  on,  heedless  of  God  or  man,  en- 
croaching more  and  more  every  year  on  the  place  devoted 
to  the  dead,  and  his  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Hamblin,  who 
was  most  like  himself,  backed  him  up,  and  abused  her 
mother,  who  died  at  last  of  vexation  and  affright.  Well, 
when  the  turnips  or  pai'snips  were  brought  to  table,  they 
used  to  be  full  of  human  teeth  and  bits  of  bones,  and  they 
say  the  celery  and  cucumbers  dropped  blood }  and  at  last 


9%'  EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

no  one  would  eat,  nor  would  any  neighbor  bu}'  any  thing 
grown  in  the  field,  and  the  parson  got  almost  mad,  and  his 
daughter  told  him  to  gather  up  all  the  bones  and  fragments, 
and  have  them  burned  br  thrown  into  the  river,  and  then 
all  would  go  well.  So  the  parson  employed  a  lot  of  men 
to  grub  'em  up,  and  they  were  cast,  without  a  sigh,  or 
praj'cr,  or  blessing,  into  the  river ;  and  that  very  night,  as 
the  daughter  was  lying  in  bed,  an  old  lady  rustling  all  in 
rich  silks  came  into  her  bedroom,  and  looking  proudly  and 
fiercely  at  her,  flung  something  which  hit  her  straight  under 
the  eye.  Then  the  old  lady  laughed,  and  misses  imme- 
diately jumped  up  and  screamed  out,  and  the  whole  house 
was  alarmed ;  and  she  told  them  what  had  happened,  and 
the  parson  began  to  curse  and  swear,  and  said  he  would 
send  the  old  lady  to  the  Red  Sea,  and  he  ordered  every  one 
out  of  the  bedroom.  But  from  that  night  to  the  present 
time  misses  has  lost  the  sight  of  that  very  eye,  and  they 
say  wherever  she  goes  the  spirits  follow  her,  and  don't  let 
her  sleep  in  her  bed,  but  are  always  worrying  her ;  but  how 
that  may  be  no  one  but  herself  and  her  husband  knows ; 
but  for  my  part  I  believe  that  nothing  goes  right  here  after 
midnight,  and  I  have  often  thought  of  running  away  and 
drowning  myself  at  the  things  I  hear  and  see." 

This  story  set  me  half  mad.  I  remember  well  the  day 
after  the  first  night  I  heard  it.  I  ran  home  in  a  frenzy ;  I 
rushed  into  my  mother's  presence,  I  fell  on  my  knees,  and 
pathetically  implored  her  to  take  me  home,  or  send  me  to 
another  school,  before  I  shoiild  go  wholly  mad,  or  fling 
away  my  life  in  disgust.  My  lady  coolly  rang  for  a  ser- 
vant, and  I  was  conveyed  back  in  disgrace  and  bondage, 
where  a  hearty  thrashing  awaited  and  rewarded  me.  I  was 
then  paraded  before  the  boys,  and  crowned  with  a  large 
goat's  head  and  horns;  on  my  back  was  pinned  a  paper 
with  these  words,  "Liar!  Coward!"  and  was  stuck  upon  a 
stool  in  the  most  conspicuous  corner  of  the  school-room, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU,      93 

and  remained  the  centre-piece  of  mockery  and  laughter, 
and  I  suppose  contempt,  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
My  heart  was  almost  throbless,  but  my  brain  burned  like 
red  hot  embers,  and  a  flood  of  hiitred  of  life,  mankind, 
God,  my  parents,  my  country,  and  every  conceivable  object, 
rushed  through  my  entire  being,  drencliing  it  with  livid 
bitterness.  I  remember  that  day  still.  It  was  the  first  of 
disgrace  I  had  endured.  Torture  and  punishment  I  had 
hitherto  bore  without  repining ;  indeed,  I  had  grown  vain 
of  my  back,  which  was  perfectly  callous  and  horny  from 
repeated  floggings,  and  half  defied  the  cane  of  Hamblin. 
But  this  stigma  now  branded  on  me  seemed  indelible,  and 
I  was  mad  with  rage  and  suffering. 

The  night  that  followed  that  day — shall  it  ever  pass  out 
of  my  mind  ?  I  was  locked  up  in  my  attic,  supperless  and 
wretched.  As  I  lay  on  my  hard  bed,  I  heard  two  deep- 
drawn  sighs  that  sounded  quite  close  to  my  pillow.  An 
electric  chill  passed  through  me ;  I  felt  as  if  a  hand  of 
death,  cold,  colder  than  ice,  was  drawn  over  my  face.  I 
covered  my  head  up  in  the  quilt,  I  trembled,  I  screamed  in 
agony ;  but  my  screams  were  inaudible.  I  seemed  as  if 
enveloped  in  a  cloud,  out  of  which  no  sound  could  pene- 
trate. Darkness  palpable  was  around  me,  but  I  could  see 
it  illuminated  as  if  by  pale  light.  Then  a  gaunt  shape, 
all  bones,  with  an  enormous  head,  stood  right  over  me, 
and  looked  out  of  the  threatening  eyes  with  all  the  force 
of  hell  and  hate.  I  swooned,  and  when  I  woke  to  con- 
sciousness, found  myself  in  the  arms  of  the  friendly  domes- 
tic, who  had  already  narrated  to  me  some  of  her  own 
experiences  of  this  loathed  mansion.  She  bathed  my  head, 
she  soothed  me  with  her  hand,  she  spoke  words  of  comfort, 
but  I  heard  them  not.  Only  a  confused  vision  of  home, 
and  grinning  eyes,  and  bloodless  phantoms,  seemed  to  roll 
in  clouds  before  my  mind's  vision ;  but  at  last  she  lulled 
me  into  forgetful ness  by  a  low,  wild  plaintive  song  j  the 


94      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

lament  of  a  young  girl  hanged  for  child  murder,  and  of 
which  I  only  remember  these  words,  whose  melancholy 
music  still  haunts  me — 

"  But  his  whispered  words,  and  his  soft  blue  eyes, 
And  the  drinking  of  strong  wine, 
W^ere  the  fatal  spells  that  did  me  betray, 
And  broke  this  heart  of  mine ; 

Mine, 
And  broke  thia  heart  of  mine." 

Next  day  I  fled  from  Porter's,  never  to  return. 

Away,  away  down  by  the  green  fields,  beside  the  spark- 
ling, open  river,  glorious,  golden  in  the  laughing  sunshine, 
inhaling  the  perfumed  winds  that  stole  their  fragrance  from 
the  flowers,  by  the  high  road  through  vales  and  villages, 
anywhere,  anywhere  so  as  not  to  school,  or  equally  detested 
home.  I  found  myself  hungry  and  exhausted  in  a  great 
city,  which  I  soon  knew  was  London.  I  was  finely  dressed, 
but  I  had  not  a  penny  in  my  pocket,  and  I  had  not  tasted 
food  all  day.  Still,  my  heart  failed  not,  for  I  fled  from 
worse  than  death,  and  threw  myself  into  the  whirlpool  of 
life,  hopeful,  confident,  brimful  of  bright  expectations.  1 
knew  not  whither  I  was  going,  or  how  I  was  to  live.  I 
cared  not  what  became  of  me,  until  my  escape  was  secured, 
so  I  wandered  on  and  on,  not  even  staying  to  look  into  the 
brilliant  shops,  that  flashed  with  gold  and  silver,  and  all 
the  treasures  of  a  great  capital.  At  length  darkness  rushed 
on  me,  but  in  a  brief  space  the  streets  were  lighted  up, 
carriages  rattled  by,  preceded  by  link-boys ;  the  vivid  life 
of  the  day  seemed  still  to  extend  into  the  night,  and  all 
was  glitter,  gayety,  and  splendor.  As  I  stood  in  a  dark 
recess  and  watched  the  noisj"^  crowd  of  equipages  whirled 
by,  I  noted  a  chariot  bearing  the  Montagu  arms ;  and  lean- 
ing back  on  the  soft  cushions  I  saw  my  mother  superbly 
dressed,  and  looking  haughtily  on  the  humble  pedestrians. 
Beside  her  was  a  man  whom  I  afterwards  knew  to  be  Lord 


EDWARD  WOBTLEY  MONTAGU.      95 

Hervey,  but  I  did  not  then  have  the  honor  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. She  looked,  methought,  into  the  very  place  where  I 
was  hiding;  if  she  saw  me,  she  took  no  notice  of  the 
runaway,  but  laughed  and  smiled  upon  her  companion,  who 
was  blazing  with  finery,  but  had  a  languid,  efi"eminate  air, 
which  filled  me  with  utter  scorn  for  the  fopling.  My  tongue 
was  silent,  but  I  could  feel  as  if  my  heart  grew  ice  in  her 
presence ;  I  did  not  curse  her,  but  I  felt  hati-ed.  As  to  my 
father,  I  thought  of  him  not.  He  had  never  treated  or 
even  looked  at  me  as  his  son ;  to  me  his  face  was  cold  and 
hard  ;  he  had  invariably  repelled  me  whenever  I  approached 
him.  From  the  first  moment  that  I  can  remember  we  have 
been  strangers,  perhaps  foes.  What  was  there  between 
him  and  me  that  I  should  seek  him  now  ? 

Hitherto  I  had  not  once  faltered.  I  now  grew  very  faint 
with  hunger.  I  looked  around  me  and  began  to  feel  afraid. 
I  was  alone  in  wide  London.  There  was  no  friendly  home 
to  welcome  me ;  no  warm  hand  to  clasp  mine  and  lead  me 
to  a  shelter.  Every  one  I  saw  pass  by  seemed  to  scrutinize 
me  with  curious  gaze.  I  looked  up  to  heaven  and  saw  the 
stars,  and  wished  to  be  among  them.  "  They,"  I  thought, 
"  would  be  my  friends.  They  ai-e  so  bright,  so  glorious, 
80  beneficent,  they  would  receive  and  shelter  me.  Oh  1  that 
I  could  fly  awa}'  to  them  forever.  How  shall  I  get  food  ? 
I  have  no  money  to  buy  it — nobody  seems  to  oflfer  it  me  ? 
Any  one  can  see  that  I  am  hungry,  and  almost  dead,  yet  no 
one  offers  to  take  me  in.  Yet  one  thing  is  clear — I  shall 
see  no  ghost  to-night;  I  shall  hear  no  whisper  from  hell 
murmured  into  my  ear;  I  shall  feel  no  hand  of  Satan  laid 
across  my  heart.  If  I  wake  in  the  morning  somewhere — 
if  ever  I  do  wake,  I  shall  escape  a  flogging  and  a  fool's 
cap,  and  the  jeers  and  gibes  of  Lane  and  Bennett."  These 
were  two  wretches  in  the  school  who  had  singled  me  out 
for  persecution ;  and  added  to  my  other  torments  by  per- 
petual irritation  and  petty  annoyance.     I  often  felt  as  if  I 


96      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

could  poignard  them,  but  they  were  big,  coarse  boys,  and 
a  blow  from  either  has  frequently  stunned  me  for  even 
minutes. 

While  I  was  thus  musing,  a  sigh  or  two,  I  suppose, 
escaped  me.  I  certainly  felt  sorrowful  enough.  A  hundred 
anxious  thoughts  ran  through  my  soul.  The  full  danger 
of  my  situation  now  for  the  first  time  occurred  to  me.  I 
was  accosted  by  a  short,  stout  man,  with  a  very  square, 
full  face,  a  round  chin,  deep,  dark  eyes  of  the  most  earnest 
expression,  his  own  black  hair,  a  plain  brown  suit,  and  a 
fine  cravat,  tied  very  loosely  round  his  neck.  He  leaned 
on  a  thick  walking-stick  with  a  massive  gold  head.  His 
presence  was  assuring,  and  his  smile  had  something  of  a 
charm  in  it — the  magic  of  a  quick  benevolence.  He  looked 
at  me  for  some  time  before  he  spoke,  as  if  meditating  how 
he  should  begin,  but  he  finally  came  up  to  me,  and  with  a 
rich  Irish  accent,  that  was  not  destitute  of  soft  melody, 
thus  addressed  me : 

"  How  now,  youngster,  in  the  fine  coat — ^what  are  you 
doing  here  at  this  time  of  night  ?  Waiting  for  your  mis- 
tress, eh  ?" 

I  was  startled,  but  I  had  plenty  of  courage,  so  I  said : 
"  Not  waiting  for  a  mistress,  for  here  is  no  need  to  wait, 
when  they  pass  up  and  down  in  such  numbers ;  but  won- 
dering what  I  shall  do  with  myself." 

"  You  are  very  difficult  to  please,  I  suppose,  that  you 
hesitate  so  much.  But  if  you  take  my  counsel,  you  will  go 
home  to  your  mother,  and  get  your  supper,  unless,  indeed, 
you  prefer  a  rheumatism." 

"  I  like  one  part  of  your  counsel,  but  not  the  other." 
"  And  praj^  which  part,  young  gentleman,  may  that  be?" 
"  That  which  counsels  a  supper,  I  approve ;  that  which 
recommends  home,  I  disapprove." 

"  Upon  my  word  you  are  a  pretty  youth,  and  I  suppose 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.       97 

you  are  now  hesitating  between  Burgundy  or  Champagne, 
Will's  or  Button's  ?" 

"I  never  heard  of  either,  old  gentleman,  but  I  feel 
hungry." 

"  Then  step  with  me  to  the  next  tavern,  and  order  what 
you  will.  I  should  like  to  sup  with  a  youngster  of  your 
spirit." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  who  may  you  be  that  thus  accost  me, 
and  invite  yourself  so  freely  ?" 

"  Well,  I  am  called  by  my  friends  Dick  Steele,  by  my 
creditors  Sir  Richard  Steele,  by  the  literary  world  Steele 
the  Scribbler.     Which  do  you  like  best  ?" 

"  The  first,  certainly ;  so  let  us  go." 

"  And  now,  sir,  that  I  have  answered  your  bold  question, 
may  I  take  the  respectful  liberty  of  asking  from  which  of 
the  planets  you  have  dropped  ?  You  don't  seem  to  know 
much  of  London,  to  be  ignoi'ant  of  Will's  and  Button's." 

"  Sir  Richard  Steele,  that  is  a  question  I  won't  answer ; 
so  go  your  ways." 

"Well,  I  shan't  press  you;  but  come  with  me;  you 
seem  a  rare  lad,  and  I  should  like  half-an-hour's  chat  with 
you." 

We  entered  the  first  tavern  we  saw.  My  host,  for  so  he 
appeared  to  be,  ordered  a  splendid  supper,  but  asked  me 
no  more  questions,  for  he  saw  that  I  was  not  disposed  to 
be  communicative,  and  he  was  too  fine  a  gentleman  to 
press  me  for  my  secret.  He  enjoyed  the  relish  with  which 
I  evidently  discussed  the  various  delicacies,  and  entertained 
me  with  agreeable  discourse,  speaking  to  me  all  the  time 
as  if  I  were  his  equal  in  every  respect,  and  making  me 
laugh  by  his  whimsical,  deep,  yet  witty  observations  on 
all  around  us.  He  quickly  put  me  into  the  most  perfect 
good  humor  with  myself  and  all  the  world,  and  I  felt  half 
tempted  to  tell  who  I  was.    An  accident  saved  me.    Just 


98      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

as  I  was  on  the  point  of  opening  my  heart,  one  of  the 
drawers  came  up,  and  said  : 

"Sir  Richard,  here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Montagu;  he 
wishes  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Ah !  Ned  Montagu,"  says  Sir  Richard ;  "  I  wonder 
what  mare's  nest  he  has  now  found  that  he  wants  me  so 
speedily.  But  I  shall  see  him  to-morrow.  Meanwhile, 
young  gentleman,  what  ails  you  ?" 

"  Nothing ;  I  was  only  thinking  where  I  should  get  a 
bed." 

"  Now,  by  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  Olympus,  thou 
art  a  perfectly  unaccountable  and  mysterious  youth.  Why 
can  you  not  sleep  here,  if  you  won't  go  home  ?  Or  why 
can't  you  fly  back  to  Mercury,  from  which  I  suppose  you 
feU  ?" 

"  Simply  because  the  inns  in  Mercury  are  closed  for  the 
night,  and  I  don't  possess  a  farthing  to  pay  for  one  here." 

"  Then,  my  boy,  you  shall  come  home  to  my  house,  and 
stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  please ;  or  at  all  events  until 
you  go  back  to  your  mother,  or  Mercury,  or  wherever  else 
you  have  escaped  from." 

"  Then  I  fear  I  shall  remain  for  some  time,  as  I  don't 
feel  inclined  to  go  back  at  all." 

"With  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  heart;  and,  boy,  you 
shall  be  welcome  to  all  I  can  supply — ^welcome  as  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.     Here,  drawer,  discharge  the  reckoning." 

And  flinging  a  guinea  to  the  man,  he  rose  up.  When  he 
had  received  his  change,  we  got  into  the  street.  Two 
dogged-looking  fellows  were  lurking  outside  the  door,  and 
immediately  came  up. 

"  Sir  Richard,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  you  are  wanted." 

"  Am  I,  indeed  ?     Tell  your  master  I  can't  come." 

"  My  master  is  the  sherifi",  Sir  Richard,  and  he  will  take 
no  refusal." 

"  At  whose  suit  is  this  new  invitation  ?" 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      99 

**  Flounce,  your  tailor,  Sir  Richard.     The  debt  is — " 

"  Pooh,  never  mind."  And  he  sighed.  "  Well,  I  sup- 
pose I  must  go.  But,  young  gentleman,  as  you  can't  go 
home  with  me,  for  the  sheriff  of  Middlesex  wants  me  on 
pressing  business,  I  suppose  you  need  a  couple  of  guineas. 
Would  that  they  were  twenty." 

And  he  gave  them  to  me,  while  they  took  him  away. 

I  scarcely  now  remember  whether  I  then  knew  the  full 
meaning  of  all  this.  The  impression  at  the  time  on  my  mind 
was  one  of  deep  gratitude  to  this  unknown  friend,  who  liad 
thus,  almost  by  miracle,  dropped  on  me  from  Heaven,  and 
saved  me  from  famishing.  Why  was  he  thus  compelled  to 
leave  me  ?  to  depart  in  the  company  of  those  two  bold, 
shabby-looking  fellows,  who  seemed  strange  lacqueys  from 
the  sheriflF  of  Middlesex.  A  couple  of  link  boys  standing 
near,  and  who  had  seen  the  occurrence,  soon  enlightened  me. 

"Ah,  there  he  goes,"  saj's  one,  "for  the  five  hundredth 
time  nabbed  by  the  bloodhounds — the  merriest  man  in 
England,  and  the  most  open-hearted.  His  wife  will  miss 
him  for  some  days." 

"Aye,"  says  the  other,  "and  I  am  sure  he  regrets  it 
more  for  her  sake  than  his  own.  He  is  a  noble  fellow. 
You  remember  Jack  Hall.  Well,  when  he  was  run  over  by 
that  infernal  old  rogue  Montagu,  who  has  twenty  millions 
of  gold  in  the  Bank  of  England,  Sir  Richard  never  ceased, 
night  nor  day,  till  he  made  him  give  twenty  pounds  to  his 
mother,  and  got  a  promise  from  him  that  when  the  boy  was 
well  he  would  apprentice  him  to  some  trade  where  his  hurt 
limb  would  not  interfere  with  his  calling,  for  he  could  flash 
a  link  no  more." 

"Aye,  and  that  was  not  the  only  fine  thing  he  did. 
There  was  Tom  Brown " 

But  here  they  walked  on,  and  I  heard  no  more.  I  could 
almost  cry ;  but  where  was  the  good  of  that  ?     I  returned 


100      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

to  the  inn  and  ordered  a  bed.    But  I  never  saw  Sir  Richard 
Steele  again.     He  died  soon  after. 

When  I  rose  in  the  morning  I  scarcely  knew  how  I 
should  act.  I  was  determined  to  seek  mj'  fortune,  and  go 
in  quest  of  adventures.  I  had  read  "  Gil  Bias  "  in  French 
at  school,  and  thought  I  should  do  as  well  as  him.  The 
shifting  variety  of  scenes,  and  circumstances,  and  charac- 
ters ;  the  independence,  the  wild  gayety,  the  change  of 
place  and  condition,  fascinated  me.  Why  should  not  my 
life  also  be  a  romance  ?  Why  should  it  not  be  narrated  by 
some  future  Le  Sage  ?  Or  should  I  go  to  sea,  and  like 
Robinson  Crusoe  find  myself  the  monarch  of  some  Para- 
dise Island  in  the  Southern  Ocean,  where  all  was  sunshine 
and  repose?  Any  thing  was  preferable  to  home,  and 
school,  and  the  cane,  and  the  sneers  and  sarcasms,  and  the 
phantoms.  Now  that  they  had  begun,  I  felt  certain  if  I 
once  got  back  again,  they  would  haunt  me  forever — perhaps 
bear  me  away  body  and  soul  into  perdition,  and  leave  no 
trace  of  me  behind.  But  whatever  I  did,  I  must  resolve  on 
straight.  I  was  only  twenty  miles  from  my  tyrants;  I 
was  not  quite  twelve  from  my  mother  and  her  myrmidons. 
Both  would  soon,  no  doubt,  be  after  me,  and  further  and 
more  extended  flight  was  absolutely  necessary.  After 
breakfast  I  left  the  tavern,  and  proceeded  along  the  streets 
until  I  got  into  the  high  road  at  the  other  side  of  the 
Thames. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

I  NOW  discovered  that  I  could  do  nothing  until  I  got  rid 
of  my  fine  clothes.  I  had  a  predilection  for  a  vagrant  life, 
and  I  resolved  to  gratify  it.  A  hundred  different  projects 
crossed  my  mind.     Should  I  be  a  soldier  ? — for  that  I  was 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     101 

too  young;  a  sailor? — for  that  I  was  not  big  or  strong 
enough ;  and  though  I  canvassed  the  advantages  of  being 
a  cabin  boy,  the  ills  and  necessities  tQ  wjiieh  it  wouW  sub- 
ject me  seemed  to  more  than  coUrtt^t^J^lattce  the'it)llicking 
freedom  which  it  promised.  J  <iid  not  vtnofih  -cai^e  'fpr,-'i;he 
toil  or  hardship,  and  I  was  Ohara\ert  '^y  the'  qitick  "vai-i^y 
and  change  of  scene  into  which  it  would  lead  me ;  but  I 
did  not  like  the  notion  of  cleaning  the  sailors'  shoes  or 
washing  up  their  dirty  dishes.  An  errand  boy  did  not 
promise  variety  enough,  nor  a  link  boy  present  security ; 
for  though  I  had  half  made  up  my  mind  to  figure  in  this 
last-named  disguise,  I  luckily  recollected  in  time  that  as 
my  avocations  would  necessarily  lead  me  into  fashionable 
society,  I  should  there  run  the  most  extreme  daily  risk  of 
being  discovered  and  dragged  home  with  ignominy.  I 
never  asked  myself  why  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  I 
should  be  any  thing  but  what  I  was ;  but  took  it  for  granted 
that  it  was  my  kismet  or  destiny,  as  the  orientals  call  it, 
and  obeyed  unerring  instinct.  Of  one  thing  I  was  sure, 
that  as  at  home  I  was  detested  and  despised,  and  at  school 
flogged  into  fits,  any  condition  of  life  was  better  than 
either  of  these;  and  as  I  had  too  much  of  my  father's 
practical  prosaic  spirit  to  fling  myself  into  the  Thames,  so 
I  had  enough  of  my  mother's  errant  blood  to  drive  me  into 
odd  adventures,  which  had,  in  the  distance,  a  vague,  indis- 
tinct, shadowy  charm  for  my  wandering  imagination. 

I  once  meditated  a  good  deal  upon  the  advisability  of 
joining  some  strolling  players.  Here  would  be  a  variety 
of  adventure,  quite  enough,  I  thought,  to  gratify  my  ardent 
longings.  But  on  reflection  I  dismissed  the  notion.  I 
saw  no  prospect  of  the  pleasure  that  I  desired.  I  was  a 
mere  stripling,  and  could,  of  course,  be  of  histrionic  use 
only  on  the  rarest  occasions.  The  fine  gilded  dresses  and 
waving  feathers  which  appeared  so  captivating  in  the  dis- 
tance would  be  forbidden  fruit  to  me  until  I  was  some 
7 


102     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

years  older,  and  I  should  also  be  a  dependent,  and  whoUj 
devoid  of  that  wild  freedom  for  which  I  panted.  On  full 
considerfition  it  seemed  to,  me  that  the  business  of  a  chim- 
ney sweep  was,  that*  foj>  which  I  was  best  suited,  and  which 
also  promised  the. most  agreeable  incidents.  I  thought 
what  a  fine  felling  it  would  -be  to  go  from  house  to  house, 
and  from  room  to  room;  to-day  in  a  nobleman's  palace, 
to-morrow  in  a  cobbler's  lodging;  this  hour  penetrating 
the  interior  of  some  old  manor  house,  full  of  quaint  pas- 
sages and  secret  recesses,  every  one  of  which  concealed  a 
romance;  and  the  next  strolling  into  the  country,  and 
diving  through  the  ivied  walls  of  some  rustic  cot,  sur- 
rounded by  trees  and  green  fields,  or  gazing  over  the  wide 
expanse  from  the  highest  summit  of  some  lordly  castle  of 
the  feudal  time.  The  cuiious  in  metaphysics  may  inquire 
how  or  why  it  was  that  I,  with  all  my  patrician  blood,  had 
these  vulgar  notions?  I  have  never  examined  into  the 
reason  myself.  It  was  odd,  but  it  is  true.  If  I  were  dis- 
posed to  search  into  it,  vanity  would  no  doubt  come  to  my 
aid,  and  I  should  liken  myself  to  the  glorious  Caliph  Harun 
al  Raschid,  who,  though  commander  of  the  East,  and  lord 
of  all  the  beauty  and  the  splendor  of  his  imperial  post,  was 
never  more  happy  than  when,  disguised  as  a  merchant  or 
a  slave,  he  strolled  with  his  faithful  Giafiar  through  the 
streets  of  Bagdad,  and  in  its  manifold  phases  of  human 
existence  forgot  the  cares  of  empire,  the  demands  of  domes- 
tic duty,  and  the  supposed  instincts  of  royal  blood.  But 
the  truth  is  that  these  same  notions  about  royal  or  noble 
blood  are  all  arrant  nonsense.  There  is  no  instinct  after 
truly  great  or  noble  things  necessarily  among  people  of  high 
descent.  On  the  contrary,  my  observation  of  them,  and  I 
have  seen  them  all  intus  et  in  curte,  has  convinced  me  that, 
as  a  general  rule,  the  higher  we  ascend  in  the  social  scale 
the  more  base  and  ignoble  is  the  taste.  "  The  only  steps 
to  the  favor  of  the  Great,"  writes  Pope  to  Gay,  (and  the 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.     103 

little  monkey  well  knew  it,  having  passed  through  all,) 
"are  such  complacencies,  such  compliances,  such  distant 
decorums,  as  delude  them  in  their  vanities,  or  engage  them 
in  their  passions.  He  is  their  greatest  favorite  who  is  the 
falsest ;  and  when  a  man  by  such  vile  gradations  arrives 
at  the  height  of  grandeur  and  power,  he  is  then  at  best  but 
in  a  circumstance  to  be  hated,  and  in  a  condition  to  be 
hanged  for  serving  their  ends."  So  many  a  minister  has 
found  it !  I  know  half  a  dozen  dukes  and  marquises,  who 
spend  all  their  lives  in  the  cock-pit ;  and  in  bear-baiting, 
bull-dog  fighting,  boxing,  and  rat-catching,  find  the  true 
Elysium  of  existence.  I  know  a  dozen  earls  and  lords 
who  roam  from  gaming-table  to  gaming-table,  cursing, 
drinking,  swearing,  and  talking  smut  with  infinitely  more 
gusto  than  I  ever  heard  among  the  lowest  members  of  the 
mob.  I  know  scores  and  scores  of  viscounts,  barons,  and 
members  of  Parliament,  who  have  no  ideas  beyond  ale 
tankards  and  pipes,  and  who  spend  their  lives  in  dirty 
little  amours,  and  fancy  that  Paradise  means  this  and 
nothing  more.  All  these  people  are  of  ancient  descent, 
and  baronial  pedigree,  and  have  genealogies  and  rent-rolls, 
picture  galleries,  and  muniment  rooms,  and  are  "gracious," 
"  most  noble,"  "  right  honorable,"  and  so  forth ;  but  if  you 
could  see  their  souls,  you  would  only  behold  some  mean 
and  frog-like  little  abortions,  squatting  over  a  pool  of  dirt, 
and  wholly  incapable  of  one  generous  sentiment.  And  so 
it  is  with  their  lady  wives,  and  mothers,  and  daughters, 
whose  tastes  are  quite  as  low,  base,  and  despicable  (with 
all  their  grand  blood)  as  those  that  belong  to  their  noble 
lords  and  masters. 

The  picture  of  English  life  and  manners  which  I  draw 
may  appear  to  the  inexperienced  unreal,  tinctured  with 
misanthropy,  and  over-colored  by  a  satirical  spleen.  In 
truth  it  is  not  so ;  it  is  in  all  things  literally  accurate,  his- 
torically true.    Any  one  who  will  consult  the  memoirs  of 


104     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

the  period  can  ascertain  this.  My  motlier's  own  Letters 
and  Works  will  themselves  prove  all  that  I  have  written. 
Before  my  volume  be  condemned  let  those  be  studied,  and 
then  let  who  will,  throw  stones  upon  my  grave.  To  the 
ignorant  or  weak  this  memoir  may  appear  parricidal ,  to 
the  base  and  time-serving,  who  know  nothing  of  the  facts, 
my  delineation  of  Lady  Mary  may  appear  to  be  that  of  a 
matricide.  In  future  days  the  partisans  of  Bute  (who 
having  married  my  sister,  is  now  revelling  in  my  father's 
ill-gotten  money)  will  halloo  against  my  name,  and  cover 
it  with  obloquy.  Let  them  read  and  understand  before 
they  do  so.  What  respect  could  I  have  for  either  father 
or  mother  when  I  knew  their  inner  lives  and  odious  asso- 
ciates ?  My  mother  herself  has  left  Memoirs  and  Diaries 
descriptive  of  them ;  and  if  these  should  ever  be  seen,  what 
will  they  not  reveal  ?  But  that  Scotch  minion  of  the 
Princess  and  his  wife  will  take  care  of  that ;  they  will 
burn  them  with  zealous  care.  Though  of  high  descent, 
my  mother  there  confesses  that  she  was  on  the  most  inti- 
mate terms  with  the  infamous  Kilmanseg — one  of  the  old 
King's  mistresses ;  and  with  Craggs,  who  she  tells  us  was 
"in  the  closest  engagement"  with  another,  namelj'',  Ma- 
dame Platen.  This  horrid  woman  left  her  husband,  and 
voluntarily  presented  herself  to  the  doting  old  King  to  be 
his  paramour.  Her  own  mother  had  been  mistress  to  the 
King's  father.  "  She  was  naturally  gallant,"  says  Lady 
Mary,  writing  of  Platen,  and  as  the  King  could  only  "  cut 
paper "  in  his  mistress's  apartments,  she  "  pursued  her 
warmer  inclinations,"  and  intrigued  with  Craggs,  who  was 
recommended  by  her  to  Majesty,  and  became  Secretary  of 
State  for  this  kingdom  of  ours.  He  got  engaged  in  the 
South  Sea  Swindle,  by  which  he  gained  enormous  sums, 
and  was  mixed  up  with  Lady  Mary's  dabbling  in  lotteries, 
and  in  that  odious  scheme  by  which  so  many  innocenib 
thousands — widows   and   orphans — were  reduced  to  ruin. 


EDWARD     WORTLBY     MONTAGU.  105 

Cragg's  father  was  originally  footman  to  the  Duchess  of 
Norfolk.  He  was  engaged  in  the  same  honorable  employ- 
ment by  King  James  II,  and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 

In  this  way  Craggs,  senior,  amassed  a  large  fortune; 
got  into  Parliament,  and  was  in  the  South  Sea  robbery, 
with  his  son,  the  Secretary ;  was  made  Postmaster-general 
by  his  infamous  employer,  to  whom  he  continued  to  pander 
to  the  last,  and,  dying  after  his  right  honorable  son,  gave 
occasion  to  old  Le  Neve,  the  herald,  to  make  this  epitaph 
on  him — '■^Here  lies  the  last  who  died  before  the  first  of  his 
family."  All  this  my  mother  knew  and  has  herself  re- 
lated. 

Yet  of  this  man  Pope  had  the  ineffable  baseness  to  write 
an  epitaph,  which  still  disgraces  and  pollutes  Westminster 
Abbey,  whose  Dean  has  not  the  courage  or  decency  to 
erase  it ;  and  where  all  well-bred  people  are  compelled  to 
read  an  apotheosis  of  a  scoundrel. 

Another  of  our  intimate  friends  at  this  time  was  Methuen, 
afterwards  Sir  Paul,  who,  seeing  the  means  by  which  power 
was  to  be  obtained,  and  finding  Platen  pre-engaged,  be- 
came the  favorite  of  old  Madame  Kilmanseg.  Methuen 
was  not  ashamed  to  be  taken  into  the  protection  of  this 
hag;  by  which  debasement  he  became  a  Lord  of  the 
Treasury,  Secretary  of  State,  and  finally  Treasurer  of  the 
Household.  He  was  one  of  Pope's  virtuous  allies;  and 
notwithstanding  his  infamy,  was  a  member  of  the  highest 
circles,  as  the  lowest  wretches  are  commonly  called.  Schu- 
>enberg,  another  of  my  mother's  friends,  finding  that  her 
own  day  had  gone  by,  and  that  the  King  no  longer  cared 
for  her,  (she  being  now  three  score,)  actually  brought  over 
her  own  niece  or  daughter  from  Hanover,  and  offered  her 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales — afterwards  George  the  Second — 
in  which  she  was  supported  by  Bernstoff,  "artful,  avari- 
cious, and  designing,  who  had  got  his  share  in  the  King's 
councils  by  bribing  his  women."     This  fellow,  intending 


106     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

to  keej)  his  master  wholly  in  his  own  and  Schiilenberg's 
hands,  dissuaded  Platen  from  coming  to  England,  telling 
her  that  the  English  would  cut  her  head  off;  but  Platen 
was  too  cunning  to  believe  him,  and  so  she  came. 

Nor  was  it  footmen  only  like  Craggs  and  Stephen  Fox, 
or  their  ignoble  breed,  who  rose  to  power  and  peerages  by 
the  most  ignoble  means.  The  stream  of  morals  flowing 
from  the  Court,  ran  into  Leicester  Fields  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  whom  my  mother  condemns  for  not  reflecting  that 
a  high  rank  carries  along  with  it  a  necessity  of  a  more 
decent  and  regular  behavior  than  is  expected  from  those 
who  are  not  set  in  so  conspicuous  a  light.  He  was  so  far 
from  being  of  that  opinion,  that  he  looked  on  all  the  men 
and  women  he  saw  as  creatures  he  might  kick  or  kiss  for 
his  diversion ;  and  whenever  he  met  with  any  opposition 
in  these  designs  he  thought  his  opponents  insolent  rebels 
to  the  will  of  God,  who  created  them  for  his  use,  and 
judged  of  the  merit  of  all  people  by  their  ready  submission 
to  his  orders.  He  was  equally  well  mated,  his  Princess 
having,  according  to  the  same  authorit}'^,  "  that  genius 
which  qualified  her  for  the  government  of  a  fool,  and  made 
her  despicable  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  sense ;  I  mean  a  low 
cunning,  which  gave  her  an  inclination  to  cheat  all  the 
people  she  conversed  with,  and  often  cheated  herself  in 
the  first  place,  by  showing  her  the  wrong  side  of  her  in- 
terest ;  not  having  understanding  enough  to  observe  that 
falsehoods  in  conversation,  like  the  red  on  the  face,  should 
be  used  very  sparingly,  or  they  destroy  that  interest  and 
beauty  which  they  are  designed  to  heighten.  Her  first 
thought  on  her  marriage  was  to  secure  to  herself  the  sole 
and  whole  direction  of  her  spouse ;  and  to  that  purpose 
she  counterfeited  the  most  extravagant  fondness  for  his 
person."  And  the  highest  people  in  the  land,  seeing  what 
prevailed  both  with  the  king  and  his  son,  shaped  tlioir 
morals   accordingly.      Hence  every   form   of    corruption, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     107 

political  and  moral,  was  universal.  Of  the  whole  crew 
whom  we  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting,  there  was  only  one 
for  whom  I  really  felt  sorry ;  poor  Sophia  Howe,  one  of 
the  maids  of  honor — a  laughing,  happy,  charming  girl, 
with  whom  I  went  to  Farnham  Church  when  I  was  a  little 
boy.  I  remember  well  her  childlike  gayety,  that  seemed  to 
radiate  from  eyes,  and  face,  and  mouth  like  a  sunbeam. 
It  was  in  answer  to  this  poor  soul's  question — "  What  i* 
prudery?"  that  Pope  wrote: — 

*♦  What  Is  prudery  T    'Tte  a  beldam 
Seen  with  wit  and  beauty  seldom ; 
'Tis  a  fear  that  starts  at  shadows ; 
'Tis,  no  'tisn't  like  Miss  MeadowB, 
'Tis  a  virgin  hard  of  feature. 
Old  and  void  of  all  good  nature, 
Lean  anrl  fretful,  would  seem  wise, 
Yet  plays  the  fool  before  she  dies ; 
'Tis  an  ugly,  envious  shrew 
That  rails  at  dear  Lepel  and  yoa.** 

lines  that  I  feel  sure  did  our  poor  Maid  no  good. 

My  good  friend,  you  who  feel  inclined  to  censure  me, 
what  saj^est  thou  to  this  picture  ?  Can  you  wonder  that  it 
changed  my  blood  to  poison,  when  I  think  that  such  was 
the  society  in  which  I  found  myself,  and  to  which  I  was 
expected  to  conform  ?  You  may  ask,  cui  bono  all  this  ex- 
posure ?  I  answer,  cui  bono  all  history,  if  it  is  not  to  illu- 
minate us  with  knowledge  of  the  past,  and  of  the  real 
characters  of  those  who  are  set  before  us  as  the  great  of 
the  eai'th  ?  Can  any  thing  help  more  to  make  the  mind 
philosophic,  or  to  imbue  it  with  content,  if  it  should  be 
fired  by  ambition,  than  to  see  how  wealth  and  power  are 
acquired ;  and  that  a  man  to  get  the  world  or  its  goods, 
must  lose  his  own  soul  in  the  pursuit  ?  What  homily  or 
pulpit  can  give  me  a  nobler  scorn  of  vice,  by  general  dis- 
quisitions on  the  subject,  than  those  pictures  of  the  actual 
living  men  and  women  who  ruled  the  destinies  of  England 
for  a  period,  and  who,  if  they  dazzle  us  while  we  are  igno- 


108     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

rant,  disgust  us  when  the  domino  is  removed  ?  It  may  be 
said — "  But  you  should  not  do  it."  Well,  perhaps  there  is 
something  in  this.  I  can  onlj"^  answer  that  no  man  is  capa 
ble  of  fonning  a  true  opinion  of  that,  unless  he  has  passed 
through  the  hells  which  I  have  passed,  and  found  himself, 
from  his  childhood,  an  object  of  hatred,  scorn  and  persecu- 
tion ;  in  his  manhood,  a  mark  of  contempt  and  povertj' ; 
in  his  old  age  a  wanderer  and  outcast,  while  a  hideous 
Scotchman  was  revelling  in  the  treasure  which,  by  all  the 
laws  of  God  and  man,  he  only  should  possess.  And  his 
lad}'  mother,  spiteful  to  the  last,  bequeathed  him,  on  her 
death-bed,  a  guinea,  which  proved  to  be  real  gold — unlike 
the  emerald  ring  which  she  once  gave  as  her  passage-money 
to  a  sea  captain,  and  which  proved  to  be  glass.  Yet  think 
not  that  I  believe  that  all  are  vicious,  and  that  decency  is 
not  to  be  found  among  the  high  as  well  as  the  humble.  I 
hold  no  such  vain  opinion.  There  are  exceptions,  but 
these  exceptions  prove  the  rule ;  and  if  we  examine  the 
annals  of  mankind,  from  Julius  Caesar  and  Tiberius, 
down  to  Philip  of  Orleans  and  Frederick  of  Wales,  we 
shall  find  that  persons  of  high  descent  are  generally  the 
most  mean,  and  dirty,  and  small-minded  animals,  with  low 
tastes,  and  habits,  and  notions,  seldom  rising  above  the 
meanest  trifles  or  the  grossest  filth. 

In  saying  this,  I  expose  mj'self,  of  course,  to  the  retort 
"  tu  quoque."  Well !  I  can't  help  that,  I  have  said  what 
I  believe  to  be  God's  truth,  so  let  it  remain,  despite  aU 
cavil  or  censure.  If  I  wrote  to  please  I  should  pen  very 
different  things ;  but  I  write  to  teach  and  exhibit,  at  all 
events,  my  own  notions,  such  as  they  are.  I  have  no 
doubt  a  great  deal  can  and  will  be  said  on  the  other  side, 
-and  I  shall  hear  of  "chivalry,"  "knighthood,"  "gallantry," 
"  the  Norman  blood,"  "  the  line  of  Plantagenet,"  and  so 
on.  But  I  never  denied  that  these  things  exist,  and  have 
existed  among  those  who  call  themselves  the  "  aristocracy." 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     109 

Heaven  forfend  that  I  should  say  that  all  were  like  those 
dukes  and  marquises  whom  I  have  seen  and  despised.  I 
only  illustrate  by  facts,  that  nobility  of  mind,  though 
usually  supposed  to  attend  nobility  of  birth,  is  by  no 
means  a  usual  concomitant  of  that  happj^  accident ;  and 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  put  mj-self  forward  as  an  example 
of  the  doctrine  which  I  projiound ;  for  all  my  tastes 
have  been  to  some  extent  what  is  called  "low."  Like 
Diogenes,  I  have  preferred  my  tub  to  a  palace,  and  the 
presence  of  a  sunbeam  to  the  shadow  of  a  king.  I  could 
have  rolled  and  revelled  in  wealth  and  pleasure  if  I  had 
been  a  living  lie.  I  could  have  eaten  and  drunk  gold  and 
pearls,  if  I  had  worn  a  mask  on  my  face,  and  humored  my 
father  in  his  avarice,  and  been  an  assentator  to  my  mother 
in  her  coquetries.  But  I  was  so  low  and  vulgar  a  fellow 
that  I  could  not  do  so.  I  preferred  being  a  sweep  or  a 
gipsy,  and  I  don't  regret  the  preference.  It  is  not  the 
calling  or  the  trade  that  is  "  low,"  but  the  man  who  is  in 
it;  and  a  sweep  may  have  as  high  and  noble  a  soul,  and 
as  truly  gallant  a  spirit,  as  the  greatest  nobleman  in  the 
land.  Nay,  I  have  known  sweeps  who  were  the  truly  noble 
of  nature,  and  noblemen  who  were  far  more  vulgar  than 
sweeps. 

But  let  me  leave  all  reveries  of  this  kind  to  speculatists ; 
and  descending  from  the  sphere  of  philosophy,  let  me 
alight  again  on  sober  facts. 

A  sweep,  therefore,  I  determined  to  become — a  falling 
off  this  from  the  Embassy,  or  the  Treasury,  from  Carlton 
House  and  Cavendish  Square — nevertheless  it  was  so,  and 
I  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  my  project.  I  went  early 
towards  the  city,  resolved  to  change  clothes  with  the  first 
sweep  I  met.  But  though  he  was  a  very  little  one,  and 
had  never  read  Lill3''s  Latin  Grammar,  he  had  more 
shrewdness  than  myself;  and  he  soon  convinced  me  that 
as  my  fine  clothes  would  be  of  no  use  to  him,  and  his  rags 


110     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

would  probably  not  fit  me,  our  best  plan  was  to  go  to  Mon- 
mouth street,  and  equip  at  some  Jew's  shop,  who  would 
probably  give  us  a  guinea  into  the  bargain,  for  my  clothes 
were  rich  with  lace  and  fine  work,  and  were  very  nearly 
new.  I  readily  embraced  this  proposal,  and  he  showed  me 
the  way  to  that  famous  emporium  of  old-new  garments. 
We  soon  found  a  Jew,  to  whom  I  mentioned  my  desire  to 
see  a  sweep's  dress. 

"Ach !  mein  Cott,"  he  said,  "  I  does  'ave  de  finest  sveep's 
dress  dat  ever  vas  in  Engeltree,  and  you  shall  see  it,  and 
you  shall  vear  it,  and  j'^ou  shall  be  like  von  noble  in  de 
dress.  Mein  Cott,  it  is  made  exack  for  you,  mein  herr ; 
it  is." 

I  was  soon  disarrayed,  and  clothed  anew  in  the  honor- 
able costume  of  a  sweep ;  indeed  it  was  only  an  old  blanket 
(worth  sixpence)  and  a  cap  value  one  penny. 

"  Ach !  mein  Cott,"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  "  nevare,  nevare 
did  I  see  von  so  fine  a  fit.  Mein  Cot,  you  do  look  like  von 
fine  young  prince  in  dat  fine  dress.  Look  here,  Rebecca ; 
look  at  dis  young  gentleman  sveep."  And  he  called  in  his 
wife. 

Rebecca  was,  of  course,  equally  in  love  with  "  dis  young 
gentleman  sveep."  In  the  meantime,  while  I  was  absorbed 
about  my  new  raiment,  the  good  woman  very  carefully  put 
aside  my  old  dress,  and  fell  into  fresh  raptures  about  my 
blanket.  At  length,  when  1  was  tired  of  being  worshipped, 
I  asked  him  what  he  was  going  to  give  me  for  my  clothes. 
The  Jew's  face  instantly  feU. 

"Ach,  mein  Cott,"  he  said,  "vhat  do  I  hear?  vhat  do  I 
hear  from  you  ?  Mein>  Rebecca,  mein  vife,  vhat  is  dis  do 
I  hear?" 

Rebecca  was  evidently  struck  dumb  with  surprise.  She 
spoke,  however : 

"  Vy,  my  pretty  gentleman,  vhat  vurdher  do  you  vhant  ? 
Is  nof.  you  have  de  sveep's  dress,  and  is  not  ve  have  your 


EDWAKD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     Ill 

old  dress  ?  A  bargain  is  a  bargain,  and  dis  vas  de  bar- 
gain, my  tear." 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  I  answered,  "my  good  lady;  there  was 
no  bargain  at  all  of  the  kind ;  you  are  under  a  mistake. 
Come,  hand  me  over  the  difference." 

"  De  difference  ?  de  difference  ?  Vhat  is  de  difference  ? 
Me  understand  not  dat  vord." 

"Why,  seeing  that  my  clothes  are  worth  about  ten 
guineas,  I  think  you  ought  to  give  me  at  least  five  on  the 
exchange." 

"  Ach,  mein  Cott,"  cried  the  Jew,  lifting  up  his  hands 
and  eyes  to  heaven.  "  Hear  him,  hear  him ;  de  exchange. 
Ve  have  exchange  ;  vhat  more  do  you  vant?" 

"I  want  the  difference,  I  tell  you.  I  will  take  four 
guineas." 

"  Five  guineas,  four  guineas,  de  difference,  de  exchange, 
vhat  is  all  dis  ?  vhat  is  de  meaning  of  all  dis  ?  Ah,  my 
pretty  gentleman,  you  laugh ;  you  mock  de  poor  Jew  man." 

I  now  began  to  get  into  a  rage.  I  could  not  believe  that 
the  fellow's  ignorance  of  my  meaning  was  sincere.  I  saw, 
indeed,  it  was  a  device  to  cheat  me. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mister  Solomon,"  I  said,  "  if  you  don't 
give  four  guineas,  I  shall  give  you  back  your  old  blanket, 
and  put  on  my  clothes  again." 

"Oh,  mein  Cottl  mein  Cott  I  here  be  one  damn  devil 
trick  of  dis  young  gentleraans.  First  of  all  you  ax  for 
de  difference,  den  you  ax  for  de  five  guineas,  den  you  ax 
for  do  four  guineas,  den  you  ax  for  de  exchange,  den 
you  ax  to  have  you  clothes  back  again,  after  you  have 
changed  dem  vid  me  for  dat  beautiful  sveep's  dress. 
No,  no,  young  gentleman;  I  am  an  old  man,  and  you 
must  not  play  tricks  vid  de  old.  Go  your  vays,  go 
your  vays."  And  he  began  to  push  me  out  of  the 
shop. 

This  was  a  catastrophe  for  which  I  was  not  quite  pre- 


112     BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

pared.  I  determined  to  resist  so  gross  an  imposition,  but 
Rebecca  now  came  to  her  husband's  assistance. 

"  Ah,  you  pretty  young  gentlemans,"  she  said,  "  go  your 
vays  quietly  ;  go  your  vays,  and  here  is  a  ha'penny."  And 
she  tendered  me  this  splendid  coin,  still  urging  me  towards 
the  door.  Her  husband  also  gently  impelled  me.  I  strug- 
gled, but  what  could  I  do  ?  I  was  fairly,  or  rather  foully, 
thrust  into  the  street,  the  old  robber  still  crying  out,  "  Go 
your  vays,  ragabone ;  go  your  vays,  vagabone ;  von  damn 
vagabone,  you  be ;  you  vant  to  cheat  poor  man  vid  your 
guineas,  and  your  four  and  your  five,  and  your  difference, 
and  your  exchange.  I  never  saw  so  young  a  rogue;  so 
deep,  so  deep  as  de  river  Thames.  Go  your  vays,  go  jour 
vays ;  you  must  not  stay  in  de  vay."  And  he  slapped  the 
door  in  my  face,  leaving  me  half  frantic  with  passion. 

This  was  a  sorry  prelude  to  the  honorable  profession  on 
which  I  was  entering.  My  poor  little  sweep  companion 
seemed  thunderstruck,  but  we  both  felt  that  we  were  power- 
less. With  heavy  hearts  we  departed,  and  I  accompanied 
him  to  his  master,  who  soon  enrolled  me  as  one  of  his 
supernumeraries  without  asking  any  disagreeable  questions. 
There  were  five  of  us,  all  young  sweeps  with  dark  eyes,  like 
Spaniards,  and  white  teeth,  and  merry  features,  and  in  truth 
we  were  as  gamesome  as  so  many  trout  in  a  pond.  I  soon 
formed  a  friendship  for  them,  and  many  were  the  pranks 
we  plaj'ed.  I  was  ten  times  happier  than  I  ever  had  been 
at  Cavendish  Square  or  Twickenham.  Aye,  I  was  hapi^ier 
than  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  Carleton  House,  or  Leicester 
Fields,  with  all  his  Dodingtons  around  him. 

I  continued  this  life  for  some  months.  Many  of  my 
adventures  were  absurd.  I  had  from  the  first  made  it  a 
rule  to  do  exactly  as  I  pleased,  and  when  I  was  sent  up 
into  one  chimney  I  very  often  descended  down  another. 
Many,  consequently,  were  the  discoveries  which  I  made. 
1  have  stolen  into  a  room  where  a  miser  was  counting  his 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.     113 

gold,  and  a  married  woman  was  reading  the  love  letters  of — 
not  her  husband.  I  have  seen  the  clerk  making  up  the  false 
ledgers  which  were  to  defraud  his  master,  and  heard  the 
thief-catchers  plotting  with  the  ladies  of  Hockley-in-the- 
Hole  to  betray  this  or  that  amorous  highwayman  to  the 
gallows.  I  have  seen  the  vintner  mixing  drugs  with  his 
wines,  and  the  grocer  putting  Epsom  salts  (deprived  by 
fire  of  its  medicinal  qualities)  into  his  sugar,  to  give  it  the 
semblance  of  crystallization.  I  have  come  upon  a  gang  of 
coiners,  (but  here  I  narrowly  escaped  with  life,)  and  have 
heard  a  bevy  of  ladies'  maids  scandalizing  their  mistresses 
with  several  members  of  the  peerage. 

One  night,  or  rather  morning,  about  four  o'clock,  my 
master  sent  me  up  a  chimney  at  a  large  hotel  at  the  West 
End  of  the  town.  We  were  thus  early  because  it  was 
requisite  that  the  work  should  be  done  betimes,  to  give 
sufiicient  opportunity  to  prepare  for  a  grand  wedding- 
breakfast.  When  I  had  completed  my  chimney,  I  listened, 
and  heard  oaths,  blasphemies,  and  the  sound  of  alterca- 
tions ;  ascending  an  adjacent  flue,  I  immediately  got  into 
the  chimney  which  led  out  of  the  adjoining  room  whence 
the  sounds  proceeded,  and  was  at  once  cognizant  of  what 
was  going  on.  A  young  and  silly  goose,  who  had  just 
come  into  a  large  fortune,  had  been  decoyed  by  some  dear 
friends  into  the  hotel  for  the  purpose  of  spending  a  pleas- 
ant evening.  When  he  was  half  fuddled  witii  Burgundy, 
dice  and  cards  were  introduced,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
a  few  kind  associates  he  was  plucked  to  a  terrible  extent. 
All  his  ready  money,  consisting  of  bank  notes  to  the 
amount  of  nine  or  ten  thousand  pounds,  had  been  already 
secured,  and  as  he  had  lost  about  twenty  more — I  mean  in' 
hundreds — his  companions  were  now  getting  him  to  put 
his  name  to  bills  or  bonds,  or  some  other  kind  of  devilish 
security,  such  as  my  father  would  have  understood,  for  the 
amount.    But  with  the  dawn  of  day  the  silly  coxcomb 


114      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

seemed  to  have  grown  sober,  and  was  gravely  protesting 
that  he  had  been  cheated.  His  companions,  who  had 
swallowed  large  quantities  of  wine  when  their  purpose  was 
accomplished,  and  who  were  infinitely  more  drunk  than 
gentlemen  of  their  profession  usuall}"^  are,  were  denouncing 
vengeance  against  themselves  from  hell  and  Satan,  if  all 
had  not  been  as  honorable  and  fair  as  it  was  possible  that 
play  could  be. 

Cried  one,  "Do  you  suspect  our  honor?  May  the 
devil,"  &c. 

"  By  heaven,"  cried  another,  "  I  was  never  before  so 
insulted  as  by  our  excellent  friend  here.  Only  that  I  love 
him  as  my  own  soul,  I  would  wish  the  devil,"  &c. 

"  Nay,"  cried  a  third,  "  may  the  devil  come  and  fetch  us 
all  if  any  thing  could  be  more  strictly  honorable  than 
every  game  we  played." 

At  this  moment  a  sudden  thought  seized  me.  I  meant 
only  a  freak,  but  it  ended  differently.  I  suddenly  popped 
down  the  chimney  and  into  the  room.  Flinging  a  cloud 
of  soot  from  my  dress  and  face,  I  said  : 

"  Very  well ;  here  I  am,  come  to  fetch  you  with  me  to 
hell;  so  prepare." 

The  scene  that  I  now  beheld  was  perfectly  appalling. 
The  drunken,  cowardly  cheats,  seeing  me  but  indistinctly 
in  the  waning  candle-light,  conscious  of  their  guilt,  and 
with  nerves  highly  excited,  rushed  all  together  into  a  dis- 
tant corner,  and  huddled  into  a  mass.  One  groaned  out, 
another  cried,  "  It  is  the  devil  himself,"  a  third  fell  down 
into  a  swoon,  the  others  who  were  able  made  for  the  door, 
and  burst  out  of  the  chamber  screaming  with  alarm.  See- 
ing the  coast  clear,  I  went  up  to  the  table  and  the  clieated 
sot.  I  C00II3'  pocketed  all  the  bank  notes,  and  tearing  into 
a  thousand  pieces  the  bills  and  promissory  notes  which  the 
deluded  ninny  had  been  asked  to  sign,  I  vanished  up  the 
chimney  as  suddenly  as  I  arrived.    And  it  was  well  I  lost 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     115 

no  time,  for  some  of  the  gang,  having  fortified  themselves 
with  brandy,  immediately  returned ;  but  the  coast  was 
clear — the  devil  was  no  longer  visible,  neither  were  tlieir 
notes.  I  escaped  without  difficulty ;  nor  did  I  ever  again 
return  to  my  old  master.  By  means  of  an  indorsement  on 
one  of  the  notes,  I  was  enabled  to  discover  the  wretched 
fool  who  had  well  nigh  gambled  himself  into  ruin.  I 
called  on  him  in  a  few  days,  and  restored  his  lost  property. 
I  informed  him  of  my  absurd  freak,  and  told  him  my  sus- 
picions that  he  had  been  robbed.  He  thanked  me,  and 
offered  me  a  hundred  pounds,  which  I  refused.  The  next 
night  I  was  at  home. 

How  this  came  to  pass  was  accomplished  in  the  following 
wise:  As  I  was  leaving  the  young  gentleman's  house,  a 
greengrocer  who  was  in  the  habit  of  serving  some  of  my 
father's  servants  in  town  came  straight  up  to  me.  He 
looked  with  great  earnestness  at  me,  and  I  saw  that  I  was 
recognized.  I  ran  off  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  he  pursued 
and  collared  me. 

"  Hallo,  young  master,"  he  said,  "  where  are  you  going  ? 
You  must  come  home  with  me." 

I  was  thunderstruck,  and  could  not  utter  a  word.  He 
called  a  hackney  coach,  into  which  he  thrust  me  almost 
before  I  knew  where  I  was.  I  kicked,  and  struggled,  and 
pushed ;  but  I  was  brought  home  disgracefully  in  captivity, 
and  again  consigned  to  my  old  jail,  where  I  lay  for  some 
weeks.  I  was  then  sent  to  Westminster  School,  of  which 
I  entertain  any  but  pleasing  recollections.  What  a  shame 
it  is  that  in  childhood,  when  we  might  all  be  happ}'  as 
sweeps  or  link  boys,  we  should  be  consigned  over  to  those 
pedantic  old  scoundrels  wlio  make  that  period  of  our  lives 
as  wretched  as  any  subsequent  portion  of  it  can  ever  be  1 


116     BDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER   X. 

How  well  do  I  remember  my  first  dreams  of  love  and 
beauty;  with  what  divine  sweetness  and  delight  they  re- 
vive within  my  withered  heart !  So  have  I  seen  the  rose 
tree  blooming  out  of  the  granite,  and  the  golden  h3'acinth 
raise  her  head  out  of  the  broken  fragments  of  tlie  past. 
But  the}^  are  nought  but  dreams — wild  and  half-forgotten 
dreams — glimpses  of  a  Paradise  that  is  gone  forever.  I 
find  myself — old  haeknej'ed,  hardened  vagrant  as  I  am — 
sometimes  weeping  over  them,  weeping  as  if  I  were  a  child 
or  a  weak  woman ;  feeling  as  a  boy  once  more,  and  wafted 
back  into  that  summer  sunshine  which  is  in  the  heart  of 
all  when  they  revert  to  childhood.  For  I  was  only  a 
child,  indeed,  when  these  dreams  began — alas !  that  I  can- 
not be  a  child  again  and  feel  as  then.  And  thus  it  was 
that  these  emotions  had  their  birth. 

Among  the  pictures  which  my  mother  had  brought  with 
her  from  the  East  was  one  that  the  moment  I  began  to  per- 
ceive and  feel  moved  me  with  a  strange  fascination.  It 
was  only  a  sketch,  but  oh,  how  lovely  was  that  sketch  1  It 
was  a  profile  likeness  of  a  young  girl  of  twenty.  The 
complexion  was  delicate  and  pure  as  the  rainbow  tint  that 
is  on  an  Indian  shell ;  only  that  it  was  softer,  fairer,  more 
exquisitely  bloom-like.  The  eyes  were  dark  and  bright, 
the  lashes-  long,  and  like  a  silken  vail  over  those  crystal 
fountains  of  thought.  The  hair  fell  in  loose  clouds  of 
shining  brown  over  the  neck  and  bosom,  and  one  of  the 
hands  held  a  bunch  of  flowers ;  but  these  were  indistinct, 
and  had  been  but  half  touched  by  the  artist.  The  eye- 
brows were  delicately  limned,  and  were  a  perfect  study  to 
contemplate.  The  mouth  was  beautiful  when  you  viewed 
it  closel}-^,  but  when  you  scanned  the  picture  at  a  distance 
there  was  a  severe  dignity  about  it  that  impressed  you 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MCNTAQU.     117 

with  a  sacred  awe  of  her  who  was  portrayed,  and  effectually 
checked  any  feeling  but  that  of  respectful  admiration.  It 
was  a  face  to  look  upon  and  love ;  but  it  enshrined  a  spirit 
that  you  might  also  worship,  nor  deem  that  you  dishonored 
Heaven  by  paying  homage  to  one  of  its  choicest  works. 
No  frivolity  was  there ;  all  was  pure,  holy,  refined.  The 
thoughtful  brow,  the  marble  stillness  of  the  features,  which 
yet  were  flesh  and  blood,  and  belonged  to  one  who  had  a 
thorough  woman's  heart  within  her,  and  could  die  for  him 
she  loved ;  the  firm  mouth,  the  liquid  eyes  that  gave  the 
face  its  sweetest,  softest  charm — never  shall  I  forget  them ; 
and  though  it  is  sixty  years  since  first  I  saw  that  charming 
portrait,  still  it  shines  fair  over  my  memory,  and  flowers  in 
beauty  out  of  the  ashes  of  my  soul. 

Well !  it  became  my  passion.  I  could  not  tear  myself 
aM'ay  from  it.  I  was  but  six  years  old — indeed  I  do  not 
think  I  was  quite  six — ^but  in  feeling  I  was  six-and-twenty. 
I  stole  away  every  hour  to  look  at  it ;  to  gaze  upon  it  as 
the  Guebre  gazes  on  the  sun ;  to  worship  it ;  to  take  it 
into  my  heart  of  hearts  as  if  it  were  some  holy  spirit 
whom  I  longed  to  enshrine  within.  I  had  heard  of  the 
Guardian  Angel,  who  with  heavenly  love  accompanies 
every  human  being,  and  guards  him  from  temptation — 
this,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Popish  legends,  is 
now  rejected  by  the  priests,  and  laughed  at  as  a  myth.  It 
served  them  in  the  dark  ages,  and  now  is  flung  aside  with 
scorn.  Yet  there  were  moments  when  I  half  believed  it, 
and  said  to  my  heart,  "  Even  such  as  this  is  the  Guardian 
Angel  that  watches  over  me."  I  have  caught  myself  bend- 
ing over  my  shoulder,  or  rushing  in  front  of  a  looking- 
glass  to  see  whether  I  could  not  by  chance  get  a  glimpse 
of  that  invisible  one  of  the  celestials  who  was  my  appointed 
guide  and  guardian  on  the  earth.  I  will  see  if  they  are 
alike,  I  said ;  but  I  never  could  catch  the  heavenly  sprite. 
She  eluded  me — she  would  not  be  beheld.    Yet  I  had  no 


118     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

doubt  in  beauty  she  was  the  counterpart  of  that  divine 
portrait  on  which  I  so  loved  to  look.  Morning,  noon,  and 
night  I  gazed  upon  it ;  I  could  not  tear  myself  away.  I 
was  a  devotee.  My  mother  saw  it,  knew  it,  and  scolded 
me ;  but  I  did  not  care  for  this.  I  neglected  the  few  ele- 
mentary books  that  were  placed  before  me;  I  cared  for 
nothing  but  my  picture.  Thus  time  passed  until  I  was  at 
Westminster  school,  and  sick  of  its  restraints  and  rods. 

One  day  as  I  was  sauntering  listlessly  through  one  of 
the  parks,  looking  at  the  sky,  and  wondering  what  fantastic 
form  the  clouds  would  next  assume,  I  heard  a  merry  laugh, 
which  made  every  nerve  within  me  quiver.  It  went  into 
my  very  soul,  and  seemed  to  meet  its  echo  there.  I  turned 
round,  and  saw  a  young  girl  with  a  middle-aged  man.  He 
was  short,  sturdj',  common-place ;  and  eA'idently  belonged 
to  the  lower  classes,  as  we  who  are  so  sublimely  raised  upon 
Olympian  heights  above  them  condescend  to  call  the  work- 
ing members  of  society.  I  did  not  give  him  moi'e  than  one 
glance ;  all  my  gaze  was  concentrated  on  the  young  girl. 
She  seemed  in  beauty  like  my  picture ;  only  hers  was  of  a 
more  youthful  type ;  for  she  was  not  more,  I  think,  than 
sixteen  or  seventeen — probably  not  quite  so  much.  She 
was  dressed  simply,  but  simplicity  accorded  with  her  pure, 
innocent,  and  open  face ;  there  was  a  frank,  cheerful  look 
about  her,  like  a  sunshiny  day,  that  at  once  flashed  glad- 
ness on  the  soul,  and  made  you  happy,  you  knew  not  why. 
She  did  not  see  me — she  did  not  mark  those  dark  and  fiery 
eyes  that  gazed  intensely  on  her — if  she  had,  she  would 
have  burned  beneath  them.  She  continued  her  conA'ersa- 
tion  and  merrj'  laugh,  and  passed  on.  A  powerful  spell 
moved  me.  I  followed  her ;  I  never  once  lost  sight  of  her 
all  that  day.  I  knew  not  whither  they  went,  or  what  they 
did,  or  whether  they  sat  or  walked ;  I  only  saw  one  bright 
form,  and  that  I  followed  mechanically.  She  entered  a 
Iioiise,  the  door  closed,  and  I  was  in  darkness.    Now  for 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      119 

the  first  time  I  looked  about  me,     I  was  in  a  strange,  un- 
known land.      The  houses  were  old   and   wretched ;    the 
locality  exhibited  all  the  symptoms  of  poverty.     The  very 
house  into  which  the  girl  and  her  companion — instinct 
said,  "  He  is  her  father  " — had  gone,  seemed  mean  enough. 
I  was  bewildered — frightened ;  I  began  to  wonder,  for  the 
first  time,  how  I  should  get  home,     I  was  tired,  also;  I 
saw  an  old  woman  hobbling  along,  and  asked  her  what 
place  this  was.     She  looked  at  me  with  a  drunken,  fixed 
stare ;  surveying  my  fine  clothes,  as  if  she  had  a  mind  to 
strip  me ;  then  seeing  one  or  two  persons  approaching,  she 
said,  "  This  is  Blackwall,  my  pretty  dear.     What  brings 
you  so  far  from  home  ?"     I  had  no  mind  to  answer  her, 
but  calling  a  coach,  I  was  driven  back  to  Westminster,  and 
alighted  just  outside  the  school.     When  I  got  into  our 
dormitory  that  night,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  this 
lovely  girl.     Now  for  the  first  time  occurred  to  me  the 
thought,  how  like  the  picture  she  appeared  !     "  This  is  but 
an  image,"  I  said  ;  "here  is  the  living  reality,     Oii!  that  I 
could  gaze  on  her  forever."     I  tossed  and  tumbled  about; 
sleep  was  banished  from  my  eyes.     In  the  morning  I  at- 
tempted to  get  my  lessons;  I  might  as  well  have  attempted 
to  fly.     The  thing  was  impossible.     I  was  flogged,  but  my 
dreams  consoled  me.     The  next  day  I  tried,  and  again 
failed ;  I  could  not  remember  a  single  word.    I  was  flogged 
again.     No  matter,  I  did  not  feel  it.     I  did  not  care  for  it. 
Again  a  third  day  came,  and  I  was  dunce  as  before.    I  was 
flogged,  sorely  flogged  on  this  occasion.     "  Why  should  I 
endure  this,"  I  asked  myself,  "  when  I  am  free  and  can  go 
away  if  I  like  ?"     That  night  I  disappeared.     I  scarcely 
know  how  I  got  to  Blackwall,  but  I  found  myself  there 
hext  day.     I  had  some  difficulty  in  discovering  the  house, 
for  now  all  the  shops  were  open,  and  when  I  had  last  been 
there  they  were  all  closed.   At  length  I  found  it.    The  father 
was  behind  the  counter.     He  was  a  fishmonger.     I  had 


120     EDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

taken  the  precaution  of  coming  away  in  some  old  clothes ;  I 
now  boldly  went  in  and  said : 

"  Master,  do  you  want  a  boy  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  some  surprise ;  I  suppose  he  saw  I 
was  not  designed  to  be  a  fishmonger's  apprentice.  He  was 
silent  for  some  time,  as  if  he  thought  I  was  but  making 
game  of  him,  and  would  go  away  when  I  had  my  jest.  I 
repeated,  "  Master,  do  you  want  a  boy  ?" 

"Get  away,  you  young  jackanapes,"  said  he,  "and  let 
me  mind  my  business." 

"  Master,"  I  answered,  "  this  is  business ;  if  you  want  a 
boy,  take  me ;  I  want  a  place,  and  I  will  serve  you  faith- 
fully." 

He  looked  at  me  again. 

"  What  can  you  do  ?"  said  he. 

"  Any  thing  you  ask  me  to  do  in  the  way  of  your  trade," 
I  replied.  "  I  will  sweep  your  shop,  sell  your  fish,  and  go 
your  errands.  I  have  no  home,  and  I  should  like  to  stay 
with  you." 

The  old  man  mused  again — he  was  evidently  surprised. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  try  you.  Who  are  you  ?  Where 
do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  My  name  is  John  Smith ;  my  parents  are  dead,  and  I 
have  just  come  up  to  London  from  the  country  to  seek  my 
fortune." 

"  Poor  boy,"  says  the  old  man,  "if  what  you  say  be  true, 
I'm  sorry  for  you.     I  suppose  you're  hungry ;  come  in." 

I  went  in ;  he  led  me  to  a  back  parlor.  I  expected  to 
see  the  radiant  being  there  for  whom  I  was  undergoing 
this  degradation.  There  was  only  an  elderly  female — she 
proved  to  be  the  fishmonger's  wife.  She  was  knitting  with 
great  deliberation.  The  fishmonger  introduced  me  in  a  few 
words.  They  gave  me  food,  sympathized  with  me,  and 
took  me  into  their  employ.  I  was  to  go  errands,  to  hawk 
and  cry  fish — but  they  did  not  know  that  I  was  sometimes 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     121 

to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  who  was  like  the  Angel  of  God 
to  my  heart.  I  lived  with  them  for  a  year.  Never  man 
had  more  faithful  servant. 

Once  or  twice  a-day,  I  saw  the  fair  Elizabeth — such  was 
her  name.  These  stolen  views  of  heaven  repaid  me  for  all. 
Yet  I  was  nothing  to  her.  I  was  only  an  errand  boy — 
crying  fish  and  cleaning  knives.  Her  thoughts  were  far 
away.  Was  she  in  love  ?  She  sometimes  gave  me  a  letter 
to  deliver,  and  the  man  to  whom  I  delivered  it  was  a  foot- 
man, finely  powdered,  gilt  and  dressed,  who  waited  for  it 
at  a  public  house  near.  With  what  trembling  innocence 
she  placed  it  in  my  hand !  Her  sweet  eye  seemed  conscious 
of  a  something  which  showed  that  her  heart  was  ill  at  ease. 
She  offered  no  caution  as  to  secrecy,  but  instinct  told  me 
that  I  must  not  mention  it ;  and  I  feared  that  if  I  did,  I 
should  lose  those  momentary  intercourses  with  her,  so  full 
of  rapture  to  my  soul.  She  must  have  known  that  I  loved 
her,  I  looked  at  her  with  such  an  earnest  and  enamoured 
gaze,  during  which  I  felt  my  face  flush.  I  quivered  in  my 
every  nerve,  and  trembled  with  a  wild  delight,  until  I 
almost  fainted  awaj'  before  her.  But  she  never  gave  me 
any  token  of  sympathy.  Poor  girl !  Her  whole  heart  was 
doubtless  fixed  upon  one,  and  I  was  but  an  orphan  fed  by 
her  father's  bounty,  and  condemned  to  slavery  all  my  life. 
There  were  moments  when  I  thought  I  should  fall  before 
her,  take  her  by  the  hand  and  confess  all — ^my  name,  my 
rank,  my  prospects,  declaring  my  passion  with  that  wild 
eloquence  which  flowed  from  my  lips,  when  I  found  myself 
alone,  and  beseeching  her  to  wait  a  little  longer  and  become 
wholly  mine.  But  I  was  only  fourteen.  She  was  some 
years  older,  and  was  a  woman  in  appearance  and  in  feeling. 
The  hazard  was  greater  than  I  chose  to  risk.  I  said  to 
myself,  "  I  shall  be  immediately  expelled  from  her  presence 
as  an  impostor,  and  shall  never  see  her  again.    She  will  be 


122  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

lost  to  me  forever.     Let  me  wait  yet — wait  and  work ;"  and 
80  I  did. 

There  was  a  fellow  named  Matthews — Henry  Matthews 
— who  had  been  introduced  into  our  house  as  accountant 
by  Dr.  Young,  the  author  of  the  "  Night  Thoughts."  The 
man  was  worthy  of  the  master ;  they  were  birds  of  a  feather. 
Young  was  a  sneaking,  lying,  dirty  sycophant,  who  would 
any  day  have  licked  the  mud  off  the  boots  of  any  noble  lord 
or  lady  who  could  get  him  a  place,  or  give  him  a  purse. 
All  sense  of  self-respect  was  extinct  within  him.  This 
Matthews  was  an  animal  of  the  same  class.  He  was  not 
destitute  of  talent ;  but  I  detested  him  for  his  falsehood, 
hoUowness,  and  selfish  rascality.  This  miserable  creature 
was  brought  up  in  a  Jesuit  school.  He  was  a  tall,  awkward 
man,  of  scorbutic  habit — the  poisoned  eruptions  of  disease, 
with  a  large  hyena  eye,  a  square  forehead,  a  hideous  mouth, 
hands,  or  rather  talons,  exactly  like  a  vulture's  or  a  kite's 
claws,  and  he  had  all  the  qualities  of  those  fine  birds; 
being  secretive,  foul,  gluttonous,  sensual,  cunning,  and 
grasping.  Yet  he  was  smooth,  pliant,  smiling;  and  the 
general  mob  of  mankind,  who  are  as  blind  as  moles,  would 
think  him  any  thing  but  the  knave  he  was.  Mr.  Wortley 
Montagu  highly  regarded  him,  and  used  him  for  many 
purposes ;  and  under  the  tutelage  of  tliis  individual  it  hap 
pened  that  I  spent  a  good  deal  of  time.  What  exact  duty 
he  filled  in  our  house  I  can  scarcely  tell.  He  got  up  statis- 
tics, and  was  a  sort  of  secretary  and  deputy  liar  when  ugly 
questions  had  to  be  answered  ;  kept  accounts  for  my  father, 
and  aired  my  lady's  chemises  and  combed  her  lap-dogs. 

I  was  on  one  of  my  usual  errands  for  my  master,  and 
crying  "fresh  fish!  fresh  fishl"  with  all  the  force  of  my 
lungs,  when  a  sailor  came  up  to  me,  and  saying,  "  Master, 
let  me  see  your  wares,"  detained  me  for  some  time.  I 
showed  him  my  goods  and  chattels  —  plaice,  flounders, 


EDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     123 

lobsters,  crabs,  and  soles,  and  had  nearly  concluded  my 
bargain,  when  he  suddenly  said — 

"  Wait,  wait  till  I  ask  this  old  gentleman  about  them;" 
and  he  pointed  to  two  persons  who  stood  close  by,  and 
whom  in  my  eagerness  to  sell  I  had  not  observed  before. 
I  looked  at  them.  In  the  first  I  at  once  recognized  Mat- 
thews ;  the  second  was  our  old  domestic,  Jupiter,  who  had 
carried  me  in  his  arms  when  I  was  a  baby,  and  with  whom 
I  had  always  been  a  favorite.  These  two  had  been  to 
Blackwall  on  some  business  for  Mr.  Montagu,  and  hearing 
me  cry  out  as  I  have  above  mentioned,  immediately  knew 
my  voice ;  they  saw  me  pass,  and  employed  the  sailor  to 
detain  me  in  conversation,  that  they  miglit  make  them- 
selves more  certain.  The  instant  I  saw  them  I  guessed 
their  object.  I  left  my  basket  and  fled  home.  But  I  had 
scarcely  got  housed,  when  they  entered ;  the  name  of  my 
master  painted  on  the  basket  had  led  them  to  his  house, 
and  there  was  a  discovery  and  a  row.  The  honest  fisher- 
man was  faultless.  He  had  behaved  with  humauitj';  naj"^, 
with  great  generosity.  I  told  them  so ;  I  narrated  all ; 
but  not  the  true  cause  of  my  flight.  He  gave  me  the  best 
of  characters,  and  I  was  again  dragged  home,  leaving  the 
whole  family  in  tears  for  my  loss,  in  which  I  also  joined 
them  with  flowing  eyes. 

But  though  they  brought  mc  back  to  Westminster,  and 
placed  me  under  my  former  taskmasters,  with  the  most 
positive  orders  as  to  close  custody  and  strict  vigilance, 
they  forgot  that  I  also  had  a  will  of  my  own,  and  had 
already  evinced  a  resolution  to  carry  out  that  will  when 
I  pleased.  I  now  indeed  began  to  pride  myself  on  my 
numerous  flights,  as  Jack  Sheppard  did  of  the  many  jails 
he  had  escaped  from,  aud  I  began  to  find  a  wild  charm  in 
this  varied  vagabond  species  of  existence,  such  as  I  cannot 
describe.  The  main  one,  I  suppose,  was  a  sense  of  thorough 
independence;  there  was  also,  perhaps,  a  hidden  delight  in 


124     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

feeling  that  I  was  walking  the  world  under  a  species  of 
mask,  and  that  I  could  at  any  time  change  a  position  appa- 
rently most  lowly  for  that  of  the  heir  of  the  richest  man  in 
London.  I  saw,  too,  a  most  odd  and  diversified  mode  of 
life ;  and  learned  the  ways  and  manners  of  the  poor,  their 
thoughtless  follies,  their  improvident  luxury ;  their  exist- 
ence wholly  in  the  present,  with  utter  heedlessness  of  the 
morrow,  which  are  the  three  main  sources  of  all  their  wants 
and  miseries.  The  English  character  presents  a  greater 
mixture  of  eccentricity  and  humor  than  any  other  that  I 
have  ever  examined ;  and  I  seemed  to  myself  a  sort  of 
spectator  of  a  real  drama  of  life,  sometimes  comic,  some- 
times deeply  tragical,  but  on  all  occasions  interesting,  and 
played,  as  it  were,  on  the  breathing  stage  of  the  actual 
world  for  my  own  particular  amusement  and  instruction. 
As  to  Mr.  Montagu,  when  his  first  rage  at  my  disappear- 
ance had  exploded,  he  cared  very  little  to  make  any  further 
inquiry  whether  I  was  dead  or  alive ;  and  he  thenceforward 
behaved  as  I  always  knew  instinctively  he  would,  with  the 
most  sublime  indifference  as  to  what  became  of  me.  From 
Matthews  I,  of  course,  received  several  lessons  in  deceit, 
which,  though  intended  apparently  for  my  benefit,  operated 
still  more  in  increasing  the  aversion  in  which  I  held  that 
smooth-tongued  schemer.  In  vain  he  suggested  to  me  that 
my  true  policy  was  to  humor  Mr.  Montagu;  to  attend 
regularly  at  church ;  to  give  in  to  his  ways  and  crotchets 
in  all  particulars ;  and  to  be  a  dutiful  and  obedient  son. 
"  Humbug  the  old  fool,"  he  said  ;  "  humbug,  as  the  grand 
winner  of  all  things,  and  the  great  conqueror  of  men !" 
But  I  would  not  humbug.  What  is  the  good  of  doing  so, 
if,  when  you  have  won  all  things,  you  scorn  yourself? 
Matthews  could  not  understand  this.  The  glittering  pros- 
pect of  gold  and  power  which  he  held  forth  before  me  as 
the  reward  and  price  of  my  subservience,  had  no  influence 
whatever  on  my  mind.     That  there  might  be  a  payment 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      125 

for  such  degradation  was  one  of  the  main  reasons  why  I 
was  always  resolute  in  following  out  my  own  purposes. 
Had  I  been  lured  only  by  the  moral  beauty  of  filial  submis- 
sion to  a  father  who  had  at  least  no  active  vice,  as  against 
myself,  but  was  merely  the  basest  of  mankind  in  grubbing 
and  hoarding  gold  from  the  most  filthy  sources,  I  might 
possibly  have  sunk  into  the  level  of  the  other  honorable 
Toms,  and  Jacks,  and  Freds  who  went  about  the  metropo- 
lis, heaping  upon  their  absent  fathers'  heads  all  the  scorn 
and  contempt  they  could  accumulate ;  while  in  the  parental 
presence  and  in  their  letters  home  they  were  the  most  affec- 
tionate, dutiful,  and  obedient  of  sons ;  a  little  gay  perhaps, 
but  wanting  in  respect  to  their  honored  sires — never,  oh, 
never. 

But  this  course  I  did  not  choose  to  take.  My  father  and 
mother  did  not  care  for  me,  nor  did  I  feel  one  atom  of  love 
for  them.  My  mother  in  truth  hated  me  virulently,  and 
made  no  secret  of  that  hate ;  but  I  almost  fancy  my  father's 
-silent  scorn  was  even  still  more  biting.  Matthews  would 
not  or  could  not  understand  my  notions.  To  him  the  hope 
of  a  million  of  money  would  have  been  quite  enough  to 
make  him  devote  a  whole  life  to  every  species  of  infamy. 
In  this  view  I  do  not  say  he  was  singular,  for  there  are 
but  few  men  who  would  not  imitate  him.  But  nature  made 
me  one  of  these  few,  and  all  Jesuit  counsels  were  wasted 
on  me.  On  the  whole,  I  am  not  sorry  that  they  were.  I 
would  rather  be  the  wanderer  I  am  than  Bute,  with  all  my 
father's  money  in  his  coffers ;  und  a  transmigration  after 
death  into  the  form  of  a  rat,  cockroach,  a  dog,  fish,  or 
something  equally  noisome  and  detestable. 

Three  months  longer  at  Westminster  sickened  me  of  it 
for  life.  I  resolved  to  fly  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  I 
did  so.  My  first  visit  was  to  my  old  master  at  Blackwall. 
But  he  was  a  changed  man — changed  and  altered  for  the 
worse.    The  sturdy  frame  was  bent,  the  once  keen  eye  was 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

dim ;  the  fire  within  the  man  had  burned  out,  and  he  was  but 
the  cinders  of  a  human  being.  A  revolution  of  twenty  years 
seemed  to  have  done  its  work  upon  him.  His  hair  was 
white,  his  voice  tremulous,  his  step — once  so  sturdy,  so 
bold,  so  freeman-like — was  transformed  into  a  slipshod 
creep.  When  he  saw  me  he  burst  into  tears ;  he  could  not 
speak,  but  led  me  in  silence  into  the  little  room  behind  the 
shop,  which  had  been  once  his  parlor.  I  asked  for  his 
good  woman.  This  question  renewed  his  grief.  I  looked 
round,  but  saw  her  not.  "  She  is  dead,"  he  muttered. 
"And  Miss  Elizabeth?"  I  asked. 

"  Gone,  gone,"  said  the  old  man,  "  gone,  and  left  me 
desolate  and  heart-broken." 

I  was  stricken  with  horror.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
both  were  dead — both  in  so  short  a  period?  My  eyes, 
I  suppose,  questioned  him,  for  my  tongue  was  incapable  of 
doing  so.     He  shook  his  head ;  his  tears  broke  out  afresh. 

"No,"  he  said,  "not  dead;  worse,  worse,  worse!" 

I  now  began  to  suspect  the  truth.  My  unlucky  letter- 
carrying  was  beginning  to  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me. 
I  learned  it  at  length  from  the  old  man. 

After  I  left,  she  had  grown  melancholy  and  silent ;  she 
was  absent  often  from  her  meals ;  she  was  not  communi- 
cative as  of  old ;  the  frank  smile  vanished ;  the  sweet, 
musical  laugh  was  unheard.  One  night  she  disappeared. 
She  left  a  letter  on  the  table,  sa^ang  she  was  gone  to  be 
married  to  a  gentleman  with  whom  she  had  long  corre- 
sponded, and  who  loved  her.  In  a  little  time  she  would 
return,  and  all  would  be  well.  She  blessed  her  parents  for 
all  their  love  and  kindness  ;  she  would  be^their  most  dutiful 
and  affectionate  daughter  in  her  new  state.  In  vain  they 
made  inquir}^  after  her.  No  tidings  could  they  learn.  At 
length  a  letter  came  in  a  distracted  handwriting — it  was 
their  daughter's.  She  had  been  deceived,  betrayed,  dis- 
honored.    The  person  with  whom  she  fled  proved  to  be  a 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     127 

married  man.  He  was  of  high  rank,  a  senator  and  privy 
councillor,  and  when  the  discovery  was  made  he  proposed 
to  her  to  continue  as  his  mistress,  citing  high  and  royal 
example  for  the  iniquity.  But  this  she  spurned.  She  had 
now  abandoned  him,  but  dared  not  face  her  home.  What 
she  was  to  do  she  knew  not,  but  she  craved  forgiveness  of 
God  and  them.  They  must  forget  that  she  had  ever  lived. 
To  all  her  kindred  she  was  dead  forever.  Thus  ran  the 
wild  epistle.  The  mother  sickened  and  died ;  the  old  father 
was  dying.  But  he  wished  once  again  to  hear  that  voice 
of  melod3',  and  listen  to  one  silvery  note  of  love.  And  his 
tears  again  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  his  pale  cheek. 

I  was  myself  also  in  an  agony  of  grief  and  rage.  But  I 
will  not  venture  to  describe  it.  This  incident  gave  me  a 
new  horror  of  civilized  life.  Thus,  I  said,  it  is,  the  rich 
are  ever  prej'ing  on  the  poor ;  the  powerful  are  crushing 
the  feeble.  The  coronet  of  my  lord  is  glorified  by  the 
numl>er  of  his  victims ;  the  chariot  of  the  great  rolls  over 
broken  hearts.  Let  me  fly  forever  from  these  haunts  of 
villany.  What  have  I  seen  in  all  my  life  hitherto  but 
wickedness  ?  And  what  is  worst  of  all,  wickedness  tri- 
umphant !  Why  is  this  good  man — for  good  and  honest 
he  was — made  miserable  in  his  old  age,  his  household 
desolated  and  disgraced,  his  wife  killed,  his  daughter  torn 
from  him  to  gratify  the  momentary  whim  of  some  gilded 
coxcomb,  who  noM*  probably  moves  in  courts  or  senates, 
the  observed  of  all  observers  ?  Let  me  abandon  such 
haunts  forever.  Let  me  seek  nature  in  the  woods,  the 
mountains,  or  on  the  ocean.  Let  me  separate  mj'self  from 
those  with  whom  vice  is  the  daily  business,  and  dwell  apart 
from  human  kind,  or  at  all  events  seek  them  where  they 
are  uncontaniinated.  Let  me  become  a  pirate  on  the  glo- 
rious sea;  a  brigand  in  the  wild  green  forest;  an  Ishmael 
among  men ;  nay,  a  very  beggar  on  the  wayside ;  a  tramp 
under  the  splendid  arch  of  heaven,  with  the  winds  and 


128     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

sunbeams  for  my  friends ;  rather  than  be  one  among  this 
wealthy  wicked  rabblement.  Now  know  I  what  that  Ro- 
man Kaisar  meant  when  he  wished  that  mankind  had  but 
one  neck,  that  he  might  decapitate  them  all  at  a  single 
stroke.  It  was  not  blood-thirstiness  made  him  thus  cry 
out,  but  that  "fierce  indignation,"  against  human  vic^, 
which  ate  up  the  fiery  heart  of  Swift,  and  which  must  have 
appeared  to  this  sated  wearer  of  the  purple  in  its  most 
odious  and  terrible  aspect — surrounded  as  he  was  every 
moment  by  all  the  subserviency,  falsehood  and  meanness 
of  an  imperial  court.  But  was  it  more  degraded  than  our 
own,  as  I  saw  it  ?  No,  no ;  a  thousand  times  no !  With 
an  aching  heart,  I  left  the  old  man.  I  came  back  to  Lon- 
don. By  accident  I  found  m3"self  close  by  the  Sussex 
wagon;  a  great  lumberiug  affair,  like  a  farmhouse  on 
wheels,  and  drawn  by  four  fat  punches.  It  was  going  to 
Bredhemston,  but  where  Bredhemston  was  I  neither  knew 
nor  cared.  I  only  knew  that  I  was  about  to  abandon 
civilization  and  its  rascalities.  I  easily  bargained  with  the 
driver  for  a  seat  as  far  as  Bredhemston,  and  lost  no  time 
in  getting  into  my  berth.  Of  my  adventures  in  this  won- 
derful machine,  I  have  nothing  to  relate.  We  rode  for 
some  days,  stopping  at  queer  inns  with  great  fireplaces, 
and  public  houses  at  night.  We  took  in  and  let  out  several 
odd  characters.  As  we  got  deeper  into  Sussex,  and  near 
the  seacoast,  I  heard  a  good  deal  of  the  gj^psies  who  were 
encamped  about  the  Downs  of  Brighthelmstone,  for  such  I 
afterwards  found  was  the  original  of  that  which  our  wag- 
oner had  so  curiously  abbreviated.  And  when  I  was  at 
length  shot  out  of  this  Noah's  ark  I  determined  to  seek 
my  fortune  among  those  wandering  people,  and  if  that 
failed,  to  scramble  on  in  some  way  to  Portsmouth,  and  go 
on  board  ship,  careless  whither  I  was  borne,  so  that  I  was 
wafted  from  home,  and  kindred,  and  companions,  and  the 
debasing  influence  of  wealth,  rank,  state,  and  civilized 


EDWARD  WOBTLEY  MONTAGU.     129 

society.  I  looked  forward  with  considerable  curiosity  to 
the  new  drama  of  events  which  I  thought  was  opening 
before  me;  and  doubted  not  that  I  should  achieve  rare 
exploits  among  the  people  of  that  most  poetical  of  all  gyp- 
sies— ^glorious  John  Bunyau. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  rosy  summer  when  I  got  to 
Portslade,  a  little  hamlet  just  outside  of  Brighthelmstone. 
At  the  side  of  a  green  lane  I  saw  something  like  an  en- 
campment. A  thin  cloud  of  azure  smoke  rose  up  in  waving 
column  against  a  clump  of  elm  trees,  and  a  dog  barked 
quick  and  sharp  as  jny  footstep  beat  against  the  short 
emerald  sward.  There  were  about  a  dozen  tents  in  all,  of 
various  colors  and  sizes.  A  crowd  of  wagons  and  a  troop 
of  horses  were  scattered  about  in  the  adjacent  open  fields. 
As  I  advanced,  a  young  girl  came  towards  me ;  her  eyes 
were  jet  black,  with  a  fixed  fiery  star  in  the  centre,  which 
gazed  upon  you  with  a  lurid  light  that  seemed  to  petrify 
the  very  heart.  She  was  clothed  in  scarlet  and  black, 
bordered  with  Asiatic  flowers,  and  was  crowned  with  a 
vivid  red  headdress,  fringed  with  golden  ornaments,  set 
with  blue  stones ;  she  wore  a  gold  chain  in  triple  folds 
around  her  neck,  massive  as  a  king's  collar,  but  dark  and 
tawny  colored,  from  long  exposure  to  the  air.  Her  lips 
were  tliick,  but  not  coarse — such  as  I  have  since  seen  in 
the  mighty  Indo-Egyptian  idols  of  the  past ;  and  the  nose 
was  hooked,  like  that  of  the  Memnon  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile.  Many  and  man^'^  a  time  since  have  I  beheld  her  type 
in  Nubia,  and  in  the  mighty  awful  depths  of  the  Himma- 
layas.     Her  tread  was  light  and  bounding,  like  that  wliich 


180      BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

characterizes  all  the  wandering  tribe ;  she  was  close  upon 
you,  like  some  wild  dweller  of  the  forest,  almost  as  sud- 
denly as  she  appeared,  and  ere  you  were  aware.  Seen  thus, 
she  gave  me  the  notion  of  a  leopardess,  though  at  that  time 
I  had  never  seen  one.  I  afterwards  found  I  was  not  mis- 
taken. 

As  I  had  determined,  if  possible,  to  dwell  among  these 
people,  and  make  their  tents  my  tents,  their  home  my  home 
for  the  rest  of  my  life,  I  had  before  carefully  meditated  in 
what  manner  I  should  best  make  my  entrance  among  them. 
The  only  valuable  I  possessed,  in  addition  to  my  fine 
clothes,  and  one  of  the  guineas  which  poor  Steele  had  given 
me,  and  which  I  had  never  parted  with  during  this  long 
Interval,  was  a  gold  watch,  of  curious  antique  workman- 
ship, which  my  mother  had  brought  from  the  East,  and  in 
some  capricious  mood,  ere  yet  I  had  been  witness  of  her 
shame,  had  hung  around  m}'^  neck,  from  which  it  had  never 
parted  since.  On  the  back  was  chased  the  arms  of  the 
Montagus ;  the  eagle  displayed.  The  border  was  quaintly 
paiuted,  and  had  about  a  dozen  oriental  characters  graven 
on  it,  which  no  one  had  been  able  to  decipher;  and  on 
which  I  myself  set  a  strange  value,  as  if  it  were  some  won- 
drous talisman  on  which  my  fate  depended.  I  had  often, 
while  at  school,  amused  myself  with  my  fellows  by  pre- 
tending to  accomplish  various  puzzling  tricks  through  the 
operation  of  this  talisman,  and  I  had  half  persuaded  many 
of  them  that  I  was  the  only  person  living  who  understood 
and  could  explain  this  mystic  tablet.  The  chain  that  hung 
to  it  was  of  lion's  hair,  twisted  into  a  thick  cable  of  endur- 
ing strength,  and  there  was  a  key,  and  two  or  three  seals 
of  agate,  or  some  other  Indian  stone,  on  which  were  also 
cut  some  strange  devices  of  far-off  lands. 

I  now  resolved  to  astonish  the  gypsy — it  was  a  schoolboy 
trick,  grave  reader — and  as  she  came  close  to  me,  and  be- 
fore she  spoke,  I  pulled  out  my  watch,  and  putting  it  to 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      181 

my  ear,  I  suddenly  cried  out,  "Ziga  zi."  The  gypsy 
started  at  the  strange,  unusual  sound.  Whether  it  really 
conveyed  any  idea  to  her  mind  I  know  not ;  but  I  could 
see  that  she  marked  the  watch  and  its  graven  border,  and 
scanned  me  with  a  curious  eye  of  fear  or  wonder.  She 
called  out  in  a  shrill  voice,  and  immediately  an  old  hag, 
wrinkled,  dwarf-like,  black,  but  fierce-ej'ed  as  a  panther, 
came  out  of  one  of  the  tents.  Her  hair  was  dark  as  jet, 
and  she  wore  an  ebon-colored  robe,  girdled  by  a  broad  belt, 
on  which  I  could  plainly  see,  worked  in  gold  thread,  some- 
what tarnished,  three  or  four  characters  similar  in  forma- 
tion to  those  on  my  watch  and  seals.  Her  step  was  slow, 
her  glance  fixed  and  full  of  surprise — for  I  still  held  my 
watch  to  my  ear,  and  the  seals,  glittering  in  the  sun  and 
dangling  about,  probably  made  manifest  to  both  that  the 
bauble  before  them  was  also  from  the  Lord  of  the  Sun. 
She  stood  gazing  fixedly  at  me  for,  I  think,  three  or  four 
minutes,  leaning  all  the  while  on  a  stout  staff  with  a 
quaintly  fashioned  head.  At  length  she  spake,  but  in  a 
language  which  I  could  not  understand.  I  shook  my  head 
to  her  to  intimate  that  I  did  not  know  what  she  meant — 
and  I  looked  at  my  watch,  as  if  reading  in  its  page  some 
deep  revelations  of  the  future.  She  mused  again,  and 
whispered  to  the  younger  one.  At  length  she  said : 
"  Come  you  here,  little  one,  on  business  of  Egypt  ?" 
"  Aye,  indeed,"  said  I,  "  mother,  on  business  of  Egypt 
do  I  come." 

There  was  something  so  weird,  mysterious  and  witch-like 
in  all  these  proceedings  that  I  resolved  on  the  instant,  as 
if  instinctively,  to  adapt  myself  to  all  they  did  and  said, 
like  an  adept  of  their  own ;  and  this  subsequently  proved 
to  be  the  most  sagacious  policy  I  could  have  devised,  for 
my  sudden  apparition,  as  it  afterwards  proved,  filled  their 
wild  brains  with  an  idea  that  I  was  somehow  mysteriously 
sent  among  them,  and  my  fearlessness  and  cool  manner 


132  EDWARD    WORTLBY    MONTAGU. 

confirmed  ihem  in  the  thought.  Had  they  known  from 
what  a  pair  of  accomplished  diplomatists  I  had  descended, 
their  surprise,  perhaps,  would  not  have  been  so  great. 

"  And  what  business  of  Egj-pt  came  you  upon  ?"  asked 
the  aged  crone,  regarding  me  with  the  same  keen,  and 
searching,  and  lightning-like  glance  that  her  companion 
had  before  bestowed  upon  me. 

"  Behold,"  said  I,  extending  the  watch  before  her,  "  it  is 
written  here."  And  pointing  to  the  seals,  "  Here  you,  O 
wise  queen,  can  doubtless  read  both," 

The  hag  took  the  watch  out  of  my  hand ;  her  eyes  spar- 
kled as  she  held  the  golden  toy ;  she  peered  closely  into 
both  it  and  the  seals,  but  she  could  evidently  make  nothing 
of  either;  I  could  see,  however,  that  she  was  favorably 
impressed  with  my  credentials,  and  somehow  began  to 
regard  me  as  one  of  themselves,  though  how  or  wherefore 
sent  was  a  puzzle  that  did  not  seem  likely  to  be  solved. 
This  was  just  what  I  desired.  I  knew  that  a  secret  was 
the  very  thing  to  serve  me  with  the  fair.  Seeing  their  per- 
plexity^, I  asked : 

"  Hast  thou  read  what  is  herein  written,  O  mother  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  as  if  admitting  her  inability  to  do  so. 

"Then,"  said  I,  "I  will  do  so;"  and  taking  the  watch 
again  from  her  hand,  1  muttered  some  unintelligible  jargon, 
to  which  they  both  listened  with  perplexed  wonder ;  they 
were  unable,  however,  to  comprehend  it. 

It  would  have  been  much  more  wonderful  still,  if  they 
could  have  done  so,  for  it  was  a  hasli  of  Greek  and  Latin, 
mixed  up  at  the  moment,  and  which  meant  just  nothing  at 
all — something  like  our  school  incantation,  oxus,  doxus^ 
glorioxus,  &c.^  &c. 

"And  what,  0  little  one  of  Egypt,  means  this  message  ?" 
again  asked  the  elder  of  the  two  women. 

"  This,"  I  replied ;  and  in  a  deep,  solemn  voice  repeated, 
"  The  heir  of  the  StarSy  the  foster-child  of  the  Queen  Ser- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     133 

pent,  the  beloved  of  the  dark  Goddess  of  the  Woods ^  seeks  a 
hospitable  tent  and  soft  pillow.^' 

They  scanned  me  again  for  some  moments  with  their 
glittering  eyes.  I  bore  their  scrutiny  without  flinching. 
The  crone  again  took  the  watch  out  of  my  hand;  she 
breathed  over  it,  and  smelled  at  the  lion-hair  guard  chain. 
The  whole  thing  seemed  to  her  to  be — if  I  might  judge  by 
appearance — ^the  most  extraordinary  incident  in  her  life. 
Then  coming  towards  me,  she  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
turned  the  palm  up,  minutely  inspecting  the  lines  and  in- 
tersections ;  occasionally,  also,  gazing  with  an  inquisitive 
search  into  my  eyes ;  and  flashing  out  of  her  own  the  clear- 
est light,  that  seemed  full  of  a  divining  spirit.  At  length 
she  seemed  satisfied.  She  led  me  into  her  tent,  and  seated 
me  at  her  right  hand ;  she  hung  the  watch  around  my  neck, 
and  stroked  my  hair,  and  head,  and  cheeks ;  her  hand  was 
soft  as  down,  though  seventy  winters  had  revolved  since 
first  it  pressed  the  mother's  nipple.  She  set  before  me 
choice  food,  and  preserved  fruits  of  rare  delicacy;  she 
poured  out  of  an  earthen  pitcher  water,  cool,  clear,  and 
bright  as  crystal ;  and  of  so  sweet  and  pure  a  flavor  to  the 
palate,  that  it  seemed  to  taste  like  ethereal  wine. 

As  the  evening  gathered  in  and  the  violet-colored  clouds 
folded  over  the  distant  hills,  and  the  glittering  stars,  one 
by  one,  peered  out  of  the  transcendent  arch  of  heaven,  the 
men  and  women  of  the  tribe  gradually  came  in,  and  re- 
counted, with  many  a  wild  sign  and  gesture,  the  varied 
chances  of  the  day.  I  found  they  were  exiles,  or  wanderers 
from  many  lands ;  the  gipsy  of  England,  the  Bohemian  of 
France,  the  Gitano  of  Italy,  the  Zingari  of  Spain  ;  and  that 
their  trades  or  callings  were  even  more  numerous  than  the 
countries  from  which  they  came.  Some  forged  nails  and 
horse-shoes ;  some  were  farriers,  tinkers,  and  braziers ; 
others  musicians,  others  basket-makers ;  all  the  women 
told  fortunes,  and  exhibited  with  glee  the  silver  fruits  of 
9 


134     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

their  day's  adventure.  When  they  had  supped,  but  not 
until  then,  the  old  woman,  who  appeared  to  be  a  person  in 
authority,  presented  me  and  my  watch  before  the  assembled 
group.  In  a  few  words  she  explained  the  mystery  of  my 
appearance,  my  words  of  introduction,  my  missive  from 
some  unknown  power  to  their  tents  and  households.  She 
exhibited,  with  seeming  awe,  to  some  of  the  oldest  men,  the 
mystic  watch  and  seals,  and  I  could  see  that  these  made  a 
powerful  impression.  After  a  long  consultation,  carried 
on  more  by  signs  than  words,  and  when  words  were 
necessary,  in  a  language  which  I  could  not  understand,  it 
appeared  to  be  finally  agreed  that  I  was  to  be  received 
among  their  number  ;  and  the  men  shook  me  by  the  hand 
in  rotation,  beginning  with  the  oldest ;  and  the  women 
kissed  me,  ending  with  the  youngest.  This  latter  portion 
of  the  feast  pleased  me  most. 

It  was  determined  that  I  should  be  solemnly  initiated 
among  the  brotherhood,  and  a  day  was  fixed  for  the  cere- 
mony. Gitanos  came  from  all  parts  of  the  country ;  the 
soft  and  sunny  Downs  were  thick  with  tents.  There  was  a 
ruined  old  chapel  of  the  bj'gone  Papal  da^^s,  close  by  the 
green  lane,  and  in  view  of  the  blue  sea ;  and  though  only 
the  gray  gable  ends,  and  half  a  tower  remained,  still  it  fur- 
nished a  sort  of  rude  accommodation,  well  adapted  for  the 
sight  that  was  to  take  place.  On  the  twelfth  day  from  my 
first  visit  to  these  strange  people,  the  mj^stery  began.  My 
skin  was  darkly  dyed  aU  over  with  walnut  juice,  so  that  in 
appearance,  at  least,  I  was  a  perfect  African.  A  new  suit 
of  clothes,  half  Oriental,  half  Spanish,  was  supplied  by  the 
quick  fingers  of  the  younger  gj'-psies,  who  seemed  to  take 
a  wild  maternal  glee  in  arraying  me  in  this  new  finery. 
When  I  was  brought  into  the  chapel  I  was  amazed  to  see 
a  large  idol,  three-headed,  black,  and  cross-legged,  but 
whether  of  stone,  metal,  or  wood,  I  do  not  now  remember. 
A  chain  of  ivory,  oarved  into  the  likeness  of  human  skulls, 


EDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     135 

surrounded  the  waist  and  neck  of  the  idol ;  and  in  its  hand 
it  held  a  bunch  of  flowers.  But  no  prayer  was  offered  up, 
no  adoration  was  gone  through ;  it  appeared  to  have  been 
brought  there  merely  to  be  present,  as  if  nothing  of  so  im- 
portant a  nature  could  be  transacted  in  its  absence,  or 
without  its  knowledge  or  permission.  I  was  led  around 
the  chapel  twelve  times ;  at  the  last  I  stood  before  the  idol, 
the  bunch  of  flowers  was  taken  out  of  its  hand,  and  placed 
over  my  heart;  some  strange  mystical  signs  were  then 
made  about  my  head,  chest,  and  back ;  my  eyes  and  mouth 
were  kissed,  and  I  was  dubbed  by  a  new  name,  which  I 
alwa3s  thenceforth  bore — namely,  Zala  Mayna. 

After  these  things  were  done,  the}'  carried  me  far  away, 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  Downs ;  we  got  there  when  the 
moon  and  stars  were  in  their  full  splendor  of  light.  It  was 
midnight ;  and  such  a  glorious  midnight  of  blue  skies,  and 
transparent  silvery  brightness.  I  have  seen  such  often  in 
the  east,  or  in  the  Hesperian  land,  or  over  the  golden 
sierras  of  Hispania,  or  in  the  Mexican  steppes ;  but  seldom 
in  our  own  clime  of  fogs,  shop-keepers,  and  clouds.  There 
was  an  immense  tent  erected,  and  blazing  with  light  from 
brightly  polished  lamps;  the  oil  was  perfumed,  for  tlie 
fragrance  was  rich  and  exquisite.  Tliere  was  no  table,  but 
the  supper  was  served  on  the  green  carpet,  in  plates  of 
China,  painted  with  a  brilliancy  and  fire  of  fancy  such  as 
I  had  never  seen,  and  which  was  worthy  of  the  halls  of 
kings.  It  was  probably  two  hundred  years  old.  Had  it 
been  ransacked  from  some  royal  palace  ?  from  Samarkand 
or  Delhi  ?  or  had  it  travelled  further  still  by  some  unex- 
plained method  of  pillage  or  contraband  from  the  imperial 
gardens  of  Cathay  ?  Goblets  of  Venetian  glass,  bottles, 
and  curiously  shaped  decanters,  filled  with  Oriental  wines, 
cool,  sweet,  and  not  intoxicating,  were  served  round ;  and 
when  the  repast  was  over,  silver  ewers,  of  the  most  quaint 
and  ancient  form — probably  the  work  of  four  or  five  hun- 


136     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

dred  years  before — were  brought  in,  filled  with  perfumed 
waters,  in  which  we  dipped  our  fingers.  Then  one  of  the 
most  aged  gypsies,  rising  up,  commanded  silence.  All  was 
still  as  death.  He  held  in  my  hand  the  watch  and  seals, 
and  looking  on  me  steadily,  spoke  as  follows : 

"  Blessed  are  the  true  Galore — ^the  true  Galore,  who  are 
the  Sons  of  the  Gods.  There  is  no  other  race  or  people, 
equally  the  favored  of  the  Powers,  as  the  true  Galore  of  the 
east.  From  the  Sun  and  Moon  we  came ;  the  spheres  of 
golden  fields  and  silver  mountains ;  there  the  trees  have 
leaves  of  pure  emerald ;  diamonds,  amethysts  and  sapphire 
are  their  priceless  fruit.  And  ever}^  stream  is  pebbled  with 
the  finest  gold,  and  every  drop  of  dew  is  silver,  and  every 
blade  of  grass  is  finer  than  the  Gashmere  fleece.  And  these, 
indeed,  once  were  ours,  and  ours  alone — once,  alas !  in  the 
days  gone  by,  for  we  are  the  true  Galore,  tlie  blessed  Sons 
of  the  Gods,  and  the  wanderers  from  the  Sun  and  Moon. 
But  when  the  Mighty  Powers  stood  asunder,  and  discussion 
rose,  and  there  was  discord  in  the  Spheres  and  G^-cles, 
then  the  true  Galore  were  in  trouble ;  and  they  no  longer 
dwelled  in  happiness ;  and  the  Sun  cast  them  forth ;  and 
the  Moon  no  longer  embraced  them  in  her  silver  hills ;  and 
we  were  exiles,  and  deep  was  our  sorrow,  and  sad  the  pain 
and  misery  of  exile.  Then  came  an  Eagle  unto  the  true 
Galore,  saying  unto  them,  ' O,  Galore,  why  do  ye  lament?' 
And  the  Galore  said,  '  We  lament  because  we  are  in  dark- 
ness ;  and  the  Sun  gives  us  not  his  golden  light,  nor  does 
the  Moon  shed  her  silver  beam  over  us.'  And  the  Eagle 
said,  '  It  is  fated — ^this  is  destiny ;  but  it  shall  not  be  always 
so.  For  ye,  the  true  Galore,  are  the  Sons  of  the  Gods,  and 
your  powers  are  above  those  of  all  other  existences.' " 

The  old  man  ceased,  and  the  assembled  gj'psies  clapped 
their  hands,  and  joy  sparkled  in  their  eyes,  and  they  cried 
out — 

"Good!  good!" 


EDWARD     WORl'LEY     MONTAGU.  137 

Then  the  old  man  resumed — 

"And  when  the  Eagle  spake  these  words,  he  said  unto 
the  King  of  the  Galore,  '  Take  these  wings  and  fly  and  seek 
another  place,  for  the  Sun  and  Moon  will  receive  ye  no 
longer.'  And  the  King  of  the  Galore  took  the  wings,  and 
he  fled  nine  days ;  and  at  length  he  came  unto  a  great  land 
— a  land  of  lofty  mountains  and  green  plains,  and  mighty 
forests,  and  vast  rivers  and  lakes,  beautiful  as  crystal.  And 
the  King  of  the  Galore  said :  '  This  land  is  good ;  behold  I 
will  bring  my  people  unto  this  land.'  And  he  again  took 
the  Eagle's  wings,  and  he  flew  nine  days,  and  he  came  back 
unto  his  own  people,  and  he  said,  '  I  have  found  a  land,  and 
a  fair  land,  and  there  are  rich  plains  and  noble  mountains, 
and  far  extending  forests,  and  flowing  rivers,  and  lakes 
bordered  with  trees  and  flowers,  and  there  may  the  Galore 
abide.'  And  they  were  glad;  and  they  said,  'Be  it  so.' 
And  he  flew,  and  the  Galore  followed  the  King ;  and  they 
sang  joyfully,  nor  did  their  hearts  once  fail  them.  And 
this  was  the  burden  of  their  song — '  Happy  are  the  true 
Galore — ^the  true  Galore,  who  are  the  Sons  of  the  Gods  I' " 

Again  the  gypsies-  clapped  their  hands,  crying  out, 
"Good!  good!" 

"And  when  the  Galore  came  unto  this  new  land,  they 
were  a  great  and  happy  people,  and  they  begat  sons  and 
daughters,  and  they  feasted  merrily,  and  they  sang  and 
played  sweet  music,  and  they  danced  beneath  the  sun  and 
moon,  and  abided  in  the  green  forest,  and  clothed  them- 
selves in  gold  and  jewels,  and  lived  from  year  to  year,  as 
they  had  lived  in  the  golden  flelds  and  silver  mountains. 
And  thus  they  passed  ten  thousand  years,  and  there  was 
no  trouble  known  among  the  true  Galore.  And  when  ten 
thousand  years  were  passed  and  gone,  a  new  sect  sprang 
up  among  the  true  Galore ;  but  these,  indeed,  must  have 
been  the  sons  of  devils,  for  they  began  to  live  according  to 
new  and  strange  customg,  wholly  diflferent  from  those  of 


188     BDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

the  Irue  Galore — the  sons  and  favorites  of  the  Gods  of 
Splendor ;  for  they  builded  houses  and  hewed  stones,  and 
burned  earth,  and  cut  down  trees,  the  happy  everlasting 
homes  of  us,  the  true  Galore ;  but  these,  indeed,  must  haA'e 
been  the  sons  of  devils — ^for  they  burdened  the  green  and 
beautiful  earth  with  their  abominations.  And  they  in- 
creased, and  waxed  proud  and  fierce,  and  they  drove  the  true 
Galore  out  of  their  much-loved  forests,  and  hunted  them 
like  wild  foxes,  and  killed  them,  and  robbed  them  of  thWi* 
gold,  and  despoiled  them  of  their  daughters,  and  made 
them  slaves  and  beasts  of  burden.  And  the  true  Galore 
wept,  and  were  in  great  sorrow,  and  knew  not  what  to  do." 
Then  the  gypsies  hung  down  their  heads,  and  cried,  "Ah, 
me!  ah,  me!" 

"  Then  the  King  of  the  true  Galore  said,  '  Oh,  golden 
Eagle,  where  art  thou  ?  Gome  again  unto  the  true  Galore, 
and  counsel  them  what  they  shall  do.'  And  the  Eagle  came, 
and  he  said,  '  What  seek  ye  ?'  And  they  said,  '  AVe  are 
wanderers,  and  were  despoiled  by  these,  the  sons  of  devils ; 
and  we  know  not  what  to  do.'  And  the  Eagle  said,  '  Why 
will  ye  not  live  with  them,  and  abide  in  houses,  even  as  they 
abide  ?'  And  the  true  Galore  said,  '  We  will  not  hide  our 
heads  in  shame,  beneath  the  dark  screen  that  veils  us  from 
the  Sun,  and  Moon,  and  Stars ;  for  the  Sun  and  Moon  were 
once  our  homes,  and  we  love  to  look  upon  them  in  the  day, 
and  on  the  Stars  by  night.  Peradventure,  if  we  dwell  in 
covered  places  with  the  sons  of  devils,  and  keep  not  these 
glorious  spheres  ever  before  us,  we  shall  forget  and  be  for- 
gotten by  them,  and  shall  no  more  return  to  our  primal 
homes.  Wherefore  we  have  vowed  a  vow  never  to  put  a 
screen  of  wood,  or  stone,  or  tile  between  ourselves  and  these 
glorious  organizations.  And  this  vow  we  will  never 
break — no,  not  though  earth  and  heaven  should  clash  to- 
gether. But  the  sons  of  devils  persecute  and  drive  us  out, 
and  rob  us  of  our  woods  and  forests.     Therefore  is  our  cry 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     139 

made  to  thee.'  Then  the  Eagle  said, '  Follow  me.'  And  he 
led  them  into  a  new  and  fruitful  land,  where  there  were 
other  forests,  and  fair  hills,  and  fertile  rivers ;  and  the  true 
Calore  were  again  happy."  Then  the  gypsies  clapped  their 
hands  again,  saying,  "  Good  !  good !" 

"  And  the  true  Calore,  the  Sons  of  the  Gods,  dwelled  in 
this  new  land  for  ten  thousand  years ;  and  though  it  equalled 
not  their  recent  country,  still  it  was  a  fair  dominion.  And 
they  passed  their  days  in  fields  and  forests,  and  their  only 
roof-tree  was  the  leafy  bower  of  the  living  oak  and  elm  and 
walnut,  and  the  everlasting  ceiling  of  the  banyan,  through 
whose  blooming  branches  the  sun  glittered ;  and  the 
emerald  bright  stars  of  heaven  shone  over  them  in  the  soft 
night ;  and  their  sons  and  daughters  increased  wonderfully, 
and  their  days  were  happiness  and  peace.  And  it  came  to 
pass  that  the  sons  of  devils  extended  their  dominion  unto 
this  fair  land  also,  and  they  said  unto  the  true  Calore, 
'  Live  ye  in  houses  and  under  roof-trees  even  as  we  do,  or 
ye  shall  not  abide  with  us,  neither  shall  ye  any  longer  pol- 
lute this  land.'  But  the  true  Calore  said, '  We  are  the  Sons 
of  the  Gods ;  we  love  to  look  upon  the  Sun  and  Stars ;  we 
love  to  feel  them  shining,  smiling,  watching  over  us,  and 
we  will  not  bar  them  out  with  lattice  of  stone.'  And  the 
sons  of  devils  said,  '  Depart  ye,  therefore ;  this  land  is  no 
more  a  land  for  ye.'  And  they  drove  out  the  true  Calore 
with  fire  and  sword ;  and  they  devastated  their  peaceful 
bands,  and  slew  them  wheresoever  they  found  any,  and 
bore  away  their  wives  and  daughters  into  slavery,  and 
feasted  in  their  desolated  homes." 

The  gypsies  hung  down  their  heads,  saying,  "  May  their 
mothers  be  accursed  forever ;  may  their  graves  be  defiled  : 
may  the  faces  of  their  fathers  blacken  in  hell  1" 

"And  the  true  Calore  called  again  unto  the  Eagle ;  and  the 
Eagle  came  at  their  call,  and  he  said,  '  What  want  ye  now, 
O  Sons  of  the  Gods  ?'    And  the  true  Calore  answering  said, 


140     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGUi 

*  Behold  we  are  again  exiles ;  the  sons  of  devils  have  again 
despoiled  us  —  nor  is  there  any  longer  a  resting-place  on 
this  earth  for  the  true  Galore.  Wherefore  have  we  called 
aloud  unto  thee,  0  Golden  Eagle,  for  thou  hast  rescued  us 
from  our  tribulation.'  And  the  Eagle  said,  '  In  this  land 
there  is  no  longer  a  home  ;  but  the  true  Galore  must  cross 
the  seas.'  And  the  true  Galore  cried  out,  '  0  Golden  Eagle, 
command  us  not  to  cross  the  seas.'  But  the  Eagle  said. 
'  It  is  fated — this  is  destiny.  But  this  ye  shall  receive  for 
recompense:  knowledge  of  the  past,  knowledge  of  the 
present,  knowledge  of  the  future.  In  the  eyes,  the  face,  the 
mouth,  and  hands;  in  the  form  and  the  presence  of  the 
stranger  and  the  friend  ;  in  the  tone  of  the  voice,  in  the 
manner  of  the  gait  shall  ye  read  him,  as  if  all  his  heart  were 
laid  before  ye  bare,  and  the  tablet  of  his  spirit  opened  wide 
before  your  eyes.  And  this  shall  be  the  gift  of  the  true 
Galore,  above  all  other  dwellers  of  the  earth  ;  and  the  sons 
of  devils  shall  fear  3'e,  and  be  your  suitors,  nay,  j^our  very 
slaves  for  these  things,  until  the  end  of  time." 

And  the  gj'psies  clapped  their  hands,  and  sprang  upon 
their  feet,  and  shouted  with  great  joy,  "  Good !  good ! 
Blessed  be  the  Golden  Eagle  of  Heaven!" 

"  Then  the  true  Galore  sailed  over  the  seas,  and  the  Sun 
led  them  in  the  day,  and  the  Moon  and  Stars  guided  them 
in  the  night,  and  the  Eagle  sailed  before  them  over  the  blue 
waters ;  and  they  came  into  Europe  and  dwelled  therein ; 
and  abided  there  ten  thousand  years,  until  the  sons  of  devils 
again  followed  them,  and  took  possession  of  their  lands  and 
leafy  homes,  and  drove  them  out.  Then  they  became  wan- 
derers, and  were  broken  up  into  tribes,  and  some  went  here, 
and  some  went  tliere,  and  they  dwelled  beneath  tents  in  this 
cold  clime,  but  excluded  not  the  Moon  or  Stars,  for  these 
indeed  gleamed  still  through  their  transpai'ent  roofs.  And 
they  exercised  their  knowledge  with  wisdom,  and  the  sons 
of  devils  came  to  them,  and  gave  them  gold  and  silver  in 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     141 

exchange  for  mystic  lore ;  and  were  their  suitors  and  their 
slaves  unto  this  end ;  even  as  the  Eagle  foretold.  Where- 
fore rejoice  ye,  0  true  Galore,  and  be  not  dispirited ;  for  the 
promise  of  the  Eagle  hath  now  been  fulfilled  for  thousands, 
and  yet  many  thousands  of  years  ;  and  with  us  the  divine 
gift  shall  ever  abide ;  so  that  in  the  eyes  and  the  face,  and 
the  mouth  and  hands  of  the  stranger,  and  in  his  voice,  and 
in  his  walk  ye  shall  read  his  present,  past,  and  future  unto 
the  end  of  time." 

Then  all  the  gypsies  rose  up  again,  and  some  clapped 
their  hands,  and  others  clashed  silver  cymbals,  and  they 
cried  out,  "  G  ood  !  good  !  all  this  is  good." 

Then  the  old  man  resumed — 

"  All  this  have  I  expounded,  because  one  is  now  amongst 
us  who  hath  brought  a  mystic  message  from  the  Eagle ;  and 
behold  the  Signet  of  the  Eagle  is  on  his  watch  and  seals ; 
and  the  Eagle  hath  sent  him  unto  the  true  Galore — ^the  Sons 
and  favorites  of  the  Gods.  And  the  Sent  of  the  Eagle 
hath  delivered  this  message  unto  the  true  Galore :  '  The 
heir  of  the  Stars,  the  foster-child  of  the  Queen- Serpent,  the 
beloved  of  the  dark  Goddess  of  the  Woods,  seeks  a  hospitable 
tent  and  soft  pillow.^  These  words  he  hath  spoken,  but 
these  words  are  not  the  words  which  the  Eagle  himself  hath 
written  on  the  watch — though  this  lad  in  ignorance  or  for- 
getfulness  of  his  true  message  hath  said  it.  But  the  words 
upon  the  watch  are  sacred  words — and  are  a  talisman  from 
our  most  holy  books.  These  I  have  deciphered,  and  thus 
do  they  proclaim — 

'Who  knows,  and  who  shall  declare 
Whence  and  why  creation  took  place? 
He  who  is  in  the  highest  heaven  of  light 
Knows  this— no  other.' 

Blessed  is  he  who  beareth  these  words  among  us,  and  glad 
shall  be  his  welcome  among  the  true  Galore ;  for  he  hath 
come  no  doubt  on  business  of  Egypt,  though  as  yet  we  know 


142     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

it  not.  Wherefore  it  is  for  this  we  have  paid  him  honor — 
for  no  other  than  one  truly  the  favorite  of  the  Gods  could 
he  be  who  beareth  these  words.  And  we  have  given  unto 
him  a  new  name — Zala-Mayna,  or  the  Eagle-sent. 

"  But  thou,  O  Zala-Mayna,  shalt  henceforth  be  welcome 
among  our  people;  and  whithersoever  thou  goest,  there 
shall  be  a  tent  open  to  receive  thee.  I  see  in  thine  eyes  and 
Drow  many  tokens  of  the  future.  Thou  shalt  wander  among 
many  lands  and  achieve  many  adventures ;  thou  shalt  seek 
repose,  and  shalt  not  find  it  ever.  Thy  life  will  be  a  dim 
perplexity,  but  thou  shalt  discover  truth  and  abjure  error. 
Thou  shalt  be  hated  and  loved  of  many ;  thou  shalt  smite 
and  slay  thine  adversary,  and  be  the  sport  of  fierce  whirl- 
winds ;  but  the  Eternal  shall  still  shine  before  thy  spirit ; 
and  thou  shalt  not  mingle  with  the  common  herd ;  nor  shall 
the  sons  of  devils  have  power  over  thee ;  though  manj^  and 
great  will  be  their  arts  of  fascination.  A  great  grief,  and  a 
dark  sorrow  shall  steal  over  thee,  and  shall  be  the  eclipse  of 
thy  life's  sun ;  it  shall  cling  to  thee,  and  fasten  itself  round 
about  thee ;  it  shall  abide  by  thee  unto  death ;  it  shall  be  the 
evil  curse  bestowed  upon  thee  by  those  who  gave  thee  birth ; 
but  thou  shalt  not  quail  or  perish  beneath  it.  Happier  shalt 
thou  be  in  the  desert,  or  on  the  mountain,  alone  with  Him 
unto  whom  thy  spirit  rises,  than  if  thou  didst  tread  the  halls 
of  kings,  and  didst  behold  a  thousand  parasites  in  thy  train. 
But  thine  ending  shall  be  quick  and  sudden — yet  shall  thy 
name  not  perish,  nor  thy  wrongs  be  unavenged." 

Thus  terminated  this  strange  scene,  enacted  in  the  soli- 
tary heart  of  those,  silent  Downs,  when  all  the  dwellers  of 
the  hamlet  were  buried  in  sleep  or  dream ;  unconscious  of 
the  drama  that  was  being  played  within  so  short  a  distance. 
The  lights  were  now  extinguished;  there  was  bustle  and 
hurry;  the  dogs  were  called  together;  the  horses  were 
gathered  in ;  the  wagons  were  harnessed ;  the  visitors 
departed.     The  stars  alone  saw  us  and  them — the  silent, 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     143 

holy  stars  of  heaven  to  which  I  lifted  up  my  soul,  and  felt 
as  if  they  were  my  kindred.  So  real,  so  profound,  so  sacred 
seemed  the  conviction  that  I  was  indeed  Eagle-sent,  upon 
the  wild  minds  of  these  people,  that  I  was  in  my  own  heart 
heartily  ashamed  of  what  I  now  felt  for  the  first  time  was 
a  species  of  imposture;  an  abuse  of  hospitality,  an  unhal- 
lowed intrusion  upon  the  privacy  of  an  isolated  race.  But 
what  was  I  to  do  ?  Was  I  to  confess  all,  and  be  driven  with 
curses  from  out  their  circle  ?  Nay,  was  I  quite  sure  that 
with  these  passionate  Children  of  the  Sun,  my  life  itself 
would  be  safe  one  moment  after  I  had  avowed  the  cheat  ? 
Self-preservation  imperatively  required  that  I  should  not 
follow  this  course.  But  again  other  thoughts  succeeded, 
and  I  began  perhaps  to  deceive  myself,  as  most  of  us  poor 
erring  creatures  are  but  too  much  inclined  to  do.  Was  it 
then  quite  certain  that  I  was  an  impostor  ?  Was  it  bej'ond 
all  dispute  clear  that  I  was  not  divinely  led  among  these 
people — conducted  by  some  mysterious  and  superior  in- 
fluence ?  Was  the  possession  of  this  watch,  which  seemed 
the  talisman  of  my  fate,  a  mere  accident  such  as  might 
have  happened  to  any  one  else  ?  Was  my  exile  from  my 
father's  home,  my  mother's  hatred,  my  school-boy  suffering, 
my  flight  so  auspiciously  untracked  to  the  present  time,  all 
mere  accident ;  or  were  they  not  all  rather  links  of  a  chain 
woven  by  destiny  itself  to  lead  me  into  that  future  life  of 
change  by  land  and  sea,  which  this  adventure  seemed  to 
offer  ?  How  could  I  tell  ?  At  all  events,  this  was  not  the 
time,  nor  the  most  favorable  opportunity  for  inquiring  too 
nicely  into  the  matter.  I  contented  myself  therefore  with 
the  present,  secure  at  least  in  a  home,  and  safety  and  pro- 
tection among  these  strange  dwellers  of  the  Downs.  I  was 
given  OA'er  to  the  especial  care  of  one  whom  thej'  called  Man- 
asam,  and  in  his  tent  I  was  to  abide  thenceforth,  until  I  was 
thoroughly  indoctrinated  in  all  the  lore  of  the  tribe.  lie 
was  a  young  man,  eminently  handsome,  and  might  have 


144     BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

served  for  a  model  of  Apollo.  His  eyes  were  bright  as 
running  streams,  that  dance  and  glitter  in  the  sun ;  his 
tongue  was  sweet  and  musical.  Well  have  the  ancients 
called  the  voice  the  image  of  the  soul,  and  well  did  the  sage 
of  old  say  to  the  silent  man,  "  Speak,  that  I  may  know 
thee !"  Never  have  I  been  deceived  in  this  infallible  test  of 
man  and  woman ;  nor  was  I  deceived  in  that  of  Manasam. 
A  strange  affinity  seemed  to  spring  up  between  us ;  he  led 
me  to  his  tent,  and  showed  me  a  separate  bed.  I  undressed 
myself,  and  with  a  parting  glance  at  the  golden  lights  of 
heaven,  all  resplendent  in  the  violet  arch  above  me,  threw 
myself  upon  my  heathery  couch,  and  soon  was  wrapped  in 
sleep. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

I  WAS  now  comparatively  happy.  Existence  under  can- 
vas was  novel;  it  was  a  delightful  contrast  to  that  from 
which  I  had  so  recently  escaped.  Like  all  boys,  I  was  an 
intense  lover  of  the  open  air.  Solitary  confinement  at  a 
desk  or  lesson  had  become  odious  to  me.  I  had  been 
flogged  so  hard  under  Casey  and  Porter,  and  fagged  so 
hard  at  Westminster  torture  house,  that  the  transition  to 
indolence  in  the  open  country  was  like  emerging  out  of 
purgatory  into  paradise.  I  had  made  a  certain  progress 
under  these  classic  savages.  If  I  was  flogged,  and  kicked, 
and  trampled  on,  I  had,  at  all  events,  the  pleasure  of  not 
having  suffered  for  nothing.  I  was  master  of  Latin  and 
French ;  I  knew  Greek  pretty  well ;  I  had  a  sort  of  smat 
tering  of  Italian.  I  bad  a  general  knowledge  of  histoiy 
and  literature;  not  deep,  but  sufficient  for  all  ordinary 
purposes.  I  had,  besides,  what  is  better  than  all,  a  love 
of  books ;  and  though  I  panted  for  a  life  of  adventure,  I 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     145 

was  not  insensible  to  the  exquisite  enjoyment  which  flows 
from  the  acquisition  of  new  truths,  new  information,  new 
acquirements  in  the  arts  or  sciences.  May  I  confess  that 
I  had  even  scribbled  poetry  ?  But  that  is  one  of  my  accom- 
plishments of  which  I  do  not  intend  to  present  my  reader 
with  a  single  specimen  in  this  work.  I  believe  I  am  the 
only  rhymer  that  ever  lived  who  had  the  modesty  or  de- 
cency to  practice  so  much  self-denial. 

Oh !  how  I  revelled  in  this  new  scene.  I  was  drunken 
with  delight.  There  were  no  bounds  or  limits  to  my  joy. 
I  sent  my  soul  loose  upon  the  free  winds  of  heaven, 
that  swept  across  the  Downs  redolent  of  the  sea,  the 
violet  and  wild  thyme ;  the  dewy  breath  of  fragrant  fields, 
the  balm  of  an  ethereal  xmknown  beauty.  I  jumped,  I 
skipped  about,  I  was  never  tired  of  leaping  over  hedge 
or  fence.  I  sang,  I  shoiited  aloud ;  I  no  longer  envied  the 
birds,  for  my  heart  was  as  joyous  as  the  happiest  songster 
of  them  all.  The  earliest  beam  of  sunshine  found  me  at 
my  tent  door,  ready  dressed ;  almost  before  a  dog  awoke  I 
was  out  upon  the  hills,  crossing  over  the  valleys,  vaulting 
over  brush,  and  briar,  and  gorse,  giving  loose  to  the  gush- 
ing ecstacy  of  my  enfranchised  spirit.  A  cold-blooded 
spectator,  who  had  seen  me,  must  have  thought  me  mad, 
and  in  truth  I  was  mad  with  the  new  feeling  of  freedom. 
I  ran  down  the  hares  which  I  saw  gliding  through  the 
thick  fern  and  underwood.  I  rushed  into  the  open  sea, 
and  breasted  the  green  billows  that  dashed  in  living  emerald 
upon  the  sounding  beach,  and  seemed  to  speak  the  words 
of  one  Eternal.  I  stood  and  filled  my  lungs  with  the  sweet 
breezes;  I  opened  my  hand  and  sought  to  grasp  it,  and 
make  it  all  mine  own.  The  glorious  sunshine  filled  me 
with  a  divine  feeling.  I  was  like  an  immortal  God,  im- 
bued with  the  nectar  and  ambrosia  of  the  heavens.  Wo 
did  not  alwa3's  confine  ourselves  to  one  place,  but  wandered 
away  far  and  far,  making  this  lonely  silent  slade  our  headr 


146      EDWARD  WOETLBY  MONTAGU. 

quarters,  to  which  we  generally  returned  after  scouring  all 
the  seacoast  country ;  sleeping  in  rich  corn-fields,  or  on  the 
warm  beach  when  the  summer  sun  gleamed  over  us  with 
Italian  glow  and  brilliancy;  now  on  the  Bexhill  down,  and 
Hastings,  and  chivalric  Battle;  now  pursuing  our  course 
westward,  and  wandering  like  Bedoweens  over  the  South 
Downs,  to  Arundel  and  Chichester,  and  Salisbury  Plain, 
where  amid  our  fathers'  temples,  Stonehenge  and  Ames- 
bury,  we  camped,  and  heard  traditionary  tales  of  the  en- 
chanted past — ere  yet  a  Druid  dwelt  in  Britain,  ere  yet  a 
Hebrew  emerged  from  Oude.  And  mark  how  grandly  still 
do  they  survive — these  Boodhist  fanes  of  vast  gigantic 
architecture.  They  seem  and  are  the  works  of  a  colossal 
race,  before  whom  our  puny  modern  men  are  but  as  elves. 
For  what  are  all  the  palaces  and  crumbling  churches  of  the 
Pagan ;  what  are  the  marble  fragments  of  Greece,  or  Rome, 
or  Gaul,  when  compared  with  the  stupendous  reliques  of  our 
great  forefathers  ?  They  are  but  children's  toj^s — they  are 
but  dolls'  houses — utterly  mean  and  miserable.  The  Par- 
thenon, the  Pantheon,  even  the  great  Colosseum  itself — oh, 
name  them  not;  they  are  but  poor,  contemptible,  and  pigmy 
dust  holes,  if  contrasted  with  these  sublime  memorials. 
These  defy  time  itself;  they  are  more  ancient  than  the 
Pyramids,  and  will  outlive  them.  They  give  a  grander 
notion  of  the  men  who  reared  them  by  arts  unknown  to 
Euclid  or  Newton  than  all  the  epic  strains  of  Hellas  or 
Hesperia. 

My  companion,  guide,  or  tutor,  whichever  he  might  be 
called,  sympathized  with  my  new-born  rapture,  and  gave 
me  golden  glimpses  of  the  Past.  He  repressed  me  not  in 
the  least  degree ;  but  himself,  when  he  was  not  occupied  in 
other  pursuits,  shared  with  me  in  all  my  sports,  with  the 
wild  and  savage  freedom  of  a  boy.  While  others  poured 
their  ancient  lore  into  my  heart,  he  taught  me  a  variety  of 
arts — to  snare  the  rabbit  or  pheasant ;  to  steal  upon  the 


BDWABD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU.     147 

partridge  in  her  nest;  to  surprise  the  nimble  hare;  and 
catch  the  silver  tenants  of  the  streams.  Under  his  instruc- 
tion I  became  a  first-rate  marksman  with  the  arrow,  the 
pistol,  or  the  sling ;  I  could  hit  a  cherry  with  a  stone  from 
the  last  at  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards.  I  had  before 
some  skill  in  swimming ;  but  he  instructed  me  in  a  variety  of 
tricks,  so  that  I  could  manage  myself  almost  as  skilfully  as 
a  fish  in  the  water ;  nor  did  any  feat  seem  too  difficult  for 
me  to  accomplish.  He  made  me  also  a  master  of  fence ; 
he  showed  me  how  to  wrestle  and  box ;  in  a  word  I  became 
an  adept  in  all  athletic  sports.  Two  years  thus  pleasantly 
passed,  and  I  was  now  seventeen.  I  was  well-grown,  tall, 
active,  bold,  quick,  and  daring.  I  feared  no  man;  I 
blenched  at  no  danger ;  and  I  had  already  distinguished 
myself  by  a  variety  of  encounters  with  the  myrmidons  of 
the  law,  in  which  we  usually  came  off  victorious.  I  had 
become  likewise  a  curious  and  keen  observer  of  nature,  and 
of  the  habits  of  the  birds,  the  beasts,  even  the  insects  of 
the  fields.  I  saw  that  they  also  were  like  human  beings, 
with  passions,  feelings,  emotions,  vices,  and  virtues.  I 
saw  the  strong  oppress  the  weak ;  I  saw  the  powerful  de- 
stroy the  feeble.  Alas  1  when  I  went  into  the  great  world, 
I  beheld  the  same ;  and  could  find  no  difference  between 
the  policy  of  the  scorpions  and  the  rats,  and  that  of  men 
and  women ;  except  that  the  latter  were  more  refined  and 
cruel  in  their  love  of  power,  or  their  lust  of  evil.  I  re- 
member an  incident  which  happened  about  this  period,  and 
which  gave  me  a  lesson  not  unuseful  to  me  afterwards  in 
my  varied  career. 

Two  swallows  began  to  build  a  nest  under  a  projecting 
stone  of  one  of  the  old  gable  ends  of  the  ruin  that  stood 
adjacent  to  our  encampment.  Every  day  the  work  ad- 
vanced. At  length  it  was  complete;  all  that  feathers, 
wool,  and  fine  grass  could  do  to  make  the  tenement  com- 
fortable and  compact  had  been  supplied.    While  this  labor 


148     EDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

was  proceeding,  two  sparrows,  perched  on  a  corn-rick  close 
by,  watched  the  swallows  with  eager,  anxious  e3'es.  When 
all  was  finished,  the  swallows  disappeared  into  a  garden 
some  way  off,  and  the  sparrows  quietly  took  possession  of 
the  nest.  Conscious,  however,  of  their  guilt,  they  never 
dared  to  quit  it  together ;  but  when  one  was  absent  gather- 
ing food,  the  other  ke^jt  watch  within,  and,  with  beak  pro- 
truded like  a  soldier's  pike,  seemed  ready  to  do  battle  with 
all  the  world  in  defence  of  its  ill-gotten  citadel.  The  Duke 
of  Austria  could  not  be  more  alert  in  guarding  one  of  his 
felonious  acquisitions.  Our  late  King  William  did  not 
more  vigilantly  secure  the  crown  which  "  he  received,  but 
did  not  steal." 

At  length  the  swallows  re-appeared.  They  came  as  they 
supposed  to  a  warm  cottage  ready  prepared  for  their  ex 
pected  brood.  But  great  was  their  dismay  at  finding  the 
felons  in  possession.  The  male  bird  flew  at  the  nest  and 
attempted  to  expel  the  robber;  but  the  stronger-beaked 
knave  repelled  him  easily,  and  he  retreated  to  his  bride, 
bleeding  and  confused.  A  Ijasty  and  anxious  discussion 
took  place  between  them;  they  flew  ofi",  and  all  seemed 
tranquil. 

And  now  a  quick,  sharp  twitter  from  the  triumphant 
sparrow  recalled  his  mate;  a  consultation  took  place; 
sudden  measures  and  precautions  seemed  requisite.  They 
both  flew  off  for  a  short  period,  and  returned,  laden  with 
food.  The  garrison  having  been  thus  supplied,  they  both 
put  themselves  on  their  defence,  and  with  javelins  extended, 
made  rather  a  formidable  appearance.  Their  two  sharp 
pikes  stretched  out  beyond  the  nest  seemed  to  oppose  an 
impregnable  barrier.  I  trembled  for  the  luckless  swallows 
who  had  thus  fallen  victims  to  these  king-like  spoliators. 
But  soon  the  scene  was  altered.  A  shrill  cry  was  heard  in 
the  air :  I  looked  up  and  saw  about  thirty  or  forty  swal- 
lows flying  rapidly  to  the  spot.     I  had  no  difficulty  in 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU.     149 

recognizing  as  their  leaders  the  two  outraged  exiles,  who 
like  the  sons  of  -^neas  conducted  this  avenging  army  to 
this  second  Troy.  They  planted  themselves  on  the  corn- 
rick  and  surveyed  the  enemy.  There  was  a  coolness  and 
intrepidity  about  their  appearance  that  gave  me  great  hope 
that  poetical  justice  was  about  to  be  done,  and  that  the 
ravishers  must  share  the  fate  of  their  prototype,  Paris. 
Nor  was  I  deceived.  The  sparrows,  indeed,  remained 
watchful;  their  eyes  were  bold  and  fierce,  as  became  a 
besieged  party.  They  did  not,  of  course,  venture  on  a 
sally ;  but  they  seemed  determined  to  die  in  their  strong- 
hold. And  their  determination  w^as  fulfilled,  but  in  a  man- 
ner on  which  they  had  scarcely  reckoned.  Suddenly  about 
a  dozen  swallows,  each  laden  with  a  pellet  of  mud,  flew 
against  the  nest  and  discharged  it  with  unerring  aim. 
They  then  retreated,  and  made  way  for  a  fresh  party,  who 
renewed  the  attack;  these  in  turn  gave  place  to  a  third, 
who  likewise  fired  their  shot.  The  first  battalion  now  re- 
turned with  a  fresh  supply  of  mud,  which  they  pierced  into 
the  very  eyes  of  the  besieged,  blinding  and  confusing  them ; 
and  the  attack  thus  continued  until  the  luckless  sparrows 
were  completely  embedded  in  the  soft  compact,  and  stifled 
to  death.  All  their  struggles  to  escape  with  wing  and  beak 
were  inefiectual.  A  reserve  corps  of  swallows  kept  watch 
just  over  the  nest,  and  while  the  others  were  absent,  eflTect- 
ually  plastered  in  the  mud  over  the  sallyport,  so  that  flight 
was  impossible,  and  the  ravishers  were  bricked  up  alive. 
And  now,  how  great  and  glorious  was  their  triumph  1  As 
flocks  of  winged  cranes,  or  long-necked  swans  in  Asian 
meadows,  by  the  fair  flowing  streams  of  Cayster,  fly  here 
and  there,  exulting  in  their  wings,  and  settling  down  with 
noise  and  glee  triumphant,  so  raised  their  pagans,  the  vic- 
torious band  of  swallows ;  as  mighty  eagles — but  let  me 
drop  the  Homeric  strain,  and  simply  say  that,  in  a  few 
short  hours,  by  the  united  labors  of  all,  a  new  nest  was 
10 


150     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

constructed  just  oyer  that  wlilch  had  been  blocked  up,  and 
the  reinstated  birds  were  next  day  in  quiet  and  contented 
possession. 

Among  the  dwellers  of  our  tents  was  an  aged  Indian, 
who,  I  think,  must  have  been  at  least  a  hundred  years  old ; 
yet  he  was  not  bent,  nor  bald,  nor  white  haired.  His  eye 
retained  its  fire;  his  step  was  firm,  but  slow;  his  hand 
shook  not,  nor  did  his  head  wag.  He  went  by  the  name  of 
Akiba.  He  had  travelled  over  nearlj^  all  the  earth ;  he  had 
sojourned  among  the  Boodhist  talapoins,  and  the  Brahmin 
priests ;  he  had  visited  the  sacred  temples  of  the  Lama ; 
and  had  penetrated  the  enigmas  of  the  holy  city  of  Benares 
and  the  more  ancient  fanes  of  Samarkand.  He  had  been 
initiated  into  the  profound  philosophy  of  the  sages  of 
Mecca,  and  the  hidden  rites  of  the  sect  of  Lao-Tseu.  He 
had  searched  the  mystic  treasures  of  the  Vatican — all  as 
yet  in  manuscript,  and  carefully  hidden  away  from  profane 
eyes ;  unrevealed  to  the  world,  and  never  to  be  revealed ; 
consulted,  like  the  Sibylline  books,  by  the  highest  order  of 
the  priests  alone,  and  by  them  sought  only  on  the  most 
difficult  occasions  and  emergencies.  There  the  wealth  of 
human  wisdom  and  experience  is  hoarded  up;  the  secret 
engines  that  moved  empires;  the  dark  intrigues  that  to 
mankind  appeared  so  specious ;  the  hidden  causes  of  ruins 
and  revolutions  are  laid  bare ;  and  no  complication  of  cir- 
cumstances can  arise  too  difficult  to  be  solved  by  those 
profound  oracles  of  thought.  This  aged  man  became  my 
Gooroo,  or  spiritual  teacher.  He  showed  me  the  insignifi- 
cance of  that  knowledge  which  is  to  be  derived  from  what 
we  call  the  classical  writers  of  Greece  or  Italy — the  Platos, 
Ciceros,  and  other  dotards  who  knew  nothing;  the  mad, 
fantastic  and  degrading  nonsense  of  their  mythology — 
originally  sublime  and  heaven-sent,  but  transformed  by 
the  accursed  tribes  of  sophists  and  poets  into  a  medley — 
BO  trifling  and  contemptible  that  only  children  could  bo 


EDWARD     WORTLET     MOlfTAGU.  151 

amused  by  it,  while  all  men  of  sense  must  laugh  it  to 
scorn.  He  demonstrated  that  the  Greeks,  whom  we  in 
Europe  absurdly  venerate  as  the  patriarchs  of  all  philoso- 
phy, were  despicable  dreamers,  without  even  the  merit  of 
originality  in  their  shallow  speculations ;  all  of  which  were 
borrowed  from  an  older  and  a  greater  people ;  but  so  tra- 
vestied in  the  copy  that  what  was  primarily  so  sublime 
became,  in  their  hands,  utterly  ridiculous.  He  enumerated 
their  subtle  distinctions  and  puerile  definitions  of  God,  the 
Soul,  the  Kosmos,  and  eternity  ;  and  distinguished  between 
that  exalted  wisdom  which  consists  in  ideas  as  opposed  to 
that  which  is  made  up  only  of  words.  The  Greeks  were, 
in  fact,  always  babblers.  Their  taste  in  art  was  fine  and 
pure,  though  delicate  and  small ;  but  they  were  a  nation  of 
coxcombs,  without  any  real  or  solid  grandeur.  To  one 
who  has  really  mastered  Indian  lore,  Plato  is  the  vainest 
prater  of  the  Schools.  The  Romans  were  too  much  im- 
mersed in  wars  and  politics,  and  the  extension  of  their 
sway,  to  devote  any  lengthened  period  to  the  study  of 
philosophy  or  of  true  religion.  They  were,  like  ourselves, 
a  practical,  money-getting  race.  Those  of  them  who  did 
think,  drew  from  Greek  fountains ;  which,  originally  shal- 
low, would,  of  course,  ofier  nothing  greatly  worthy  of 
acceptance.  Cicero  was  a  pedant,  who  knew  scarcely  any 
tiling  of  the  subjects  on  which  he  professed  to  write.  His 
Nature  of  the  Gods  reads  like  a  burlesque.  Seneca  was  a 
dabbler  or  a  driveller — a  dreary  copyist  of  other  men ; 
Lucretius  versified  the  pamphlets  of  Epicurus. 

From  the  East  all  true  science  came ;  in  the  East  only 
was  it  to  be  found.  Thales  and  Pythagoras  knew  this,  for 
they  travelled  thither  and  explored.  The  knowledge  which 
they  brought  back  they  developed  among  their  fellows ; 
but  the  Grecian  intellect,  like  that  of  Gaul,  was  too  puny 
to  comprehend  its  simple  grandeur.  It  became  diluted, 
weakened  and  efifeminated,  so  that^nly  a  small  remnant 


152     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

of  true  Orientalism  remained;  but  it  was  that  remnant 
which  gave  vitality  to  their  speculations.  True  science 
was,  indeed,  hoarded  among  the  Wise,  as  a  secret  which 
ought  not  to  be  expounded  to  the  common  herd ;  and  it 
may  at  least  be  said  in  defence  of  both  Thales  and  his  dis- 
ciples, that  they  each  had  followers  whom  they  initiated 
into  the  higher  branches  of  the  highest  knowledge.  But 
this  policy  defeated  itself  in  the  end.  The  great  Monarchs 
of  Wisdom,  who  committed  to  mere  memory  the  vast  treas- 
ures which  they  had  acquired,  the  mightj^  conquests  in  the 
realms  of  thought  which  they  had  gained,  trusted  all  to  a 
most  frail  vehicle ;  and  hence  it  came  to  pass  that  in  the 
course  of  time,  a  great  deal  was  forgotten,  and,  conse- 
quently, lost  forever.  To  this  may  be  attributed  the  pres- 
ent extension  of  Ignorance,  and  the  vast  twilight  in  which 
mortals  wander.  Had  the  Wise  from  the  beginning,  instead 
of  confiding  to  each  other,  or  to  undecipherable  tablets, 
their  vast  researches  and  great  discoveries,  committed  them 
to  writing,  and  published  them  to  all  the  earth,  the  world 
would  be  ten  thousand  3'ears  iA  advance  of  what  it  is.  There 
would  be  but  One  Religion  and  One  System  of  Philosophy 
known  among  mankind ;  wars — the  dice  of  hell — would 
cease,  and.confraternity  universallj'^  prevail.  But  they  kept 
their  knowledge  to  a  few,  and  hence  the  present  wreck  of 
all  things. 

Thus  the  old  man  taught  me.  We  began  at  the  rudi- 
ments of  philosophy ;  we  extended  our  iuquiries  into  the 
most  august  speculations.  He  showed  me  how  the  earth 
of  man  was  formed  in  the  beginning ;  how  it  and  all  the 
planets  of  this  solar  sphere  were  originally  thrown  off,  like 
bubbles  from  the  sun.  These  bubbles  condensing,  became 
vast  globes  of  water ;  a  few  living  seeds  germinated ;  the 
result  gradually  produced  solid  matter  ;  this  solid  substance 
sank,  and  was  attracted  into  one  centre  from  all  the  vast 
circumference  of  waters.     Hence  deposits  of  mud,  which 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     153 

grew  into  sand ;  from  sand  to  stone,  from  stone  to  all  that 
we  behold.  God  sent  forth  Yital  Essences,  which  we  call 
Spirits.  He  commanded  them  to  animate  existence,  and 
gave  them  power  to  develop  themselves  as  they  thought 
proper.  This,  in  the  lower  creatures,  man  calls  instinct ; 
but  it  is  by  this  that  man  himself  is  formed.  God  says,  "  Go 
forth,  appear  in  any  shape  that  pleases  thee."  The  spirit 
assumes  that  shape  which  is  in  harmony  with  its  desires. 
If  the  spirit  be  inclined  to  evil,  it  assumes  an  evil  shape, 
like  that  of  a  wolf,  or  tiger,  or  rat,  with  propensities  cruel 
and  cunning.  If  it  be  inclined  to  good,  it  assumes  a  noble 
development,  such  as  the  spirit  of  Pythagoras  or  Socrates 
assumed.  God  did  not  make  Plato  and  Thersites.  He 
was  not,  could  not,  and  would  not  be  so  unjust.  Each  made 
himself;  exactly  as  an  insect  makes  its  wonder-causing 
cells,  which  all  the  art  of  man  could  not  imitate. 

I  asked  him  how  it  came  to  pass  that  spirits  should  have 
these  propensities  to  good  or  evil,  if  God  did  not  make 
them  so  inclined.  And  I  argued  that  there  could  be  no 
difference  in  the  Creator  making  a  man  to  be  a  Plato  or 
Thersites,  and  making  the  spirit  which  so  developed  itself 
in  Plato  or  Thersites,  to  have  a  propensity  for  the  good  or 
the  evil  which  afterwards  existed  in  thdse  men.  He  said 
God  not  make  Plato  or  Thersites ;  neither  did  He  cause  the 
spirits  which  assumed  these  forms  to  have  a  propensity, 
the  one  for  a  noble,  the  other  for  an  ignoble  development. 
God  made  all  spirits  equal  in  the  beginning  of  creation,  but 
He  left  them  free  to  do  as  they  thought  fit.  Hence  arose  a 
difference  at  once  between  them;  for  free  will  must  ever 
produce  variety  of  desire,  and  this  variety  of  desire  will 
develop  itself  in  ten  hundred  thousand  different  ways. 
Remember,  we  are  speaking  of  millions  and  millions  of 
years  that  have  gone  by,  since  first  our  actual  spirits  were 
emaned  from  God ;  during  which  every  spirit  which  is  now 
on  earth — for  all  living  creatures  arg  only  spirits  veiled  in 


154      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

flesh,  or  body  of  some  sort — must  have  plaj-ed  innumerable 
parts,  and  passed  through  uncounted  stages  of  existence. 
Some  men-  now  living  have  been  archangels,  and  might 
have  ever  continued  so,  but  the  spirit  is  ever  changing; 
confine  it  in  one  place,  restrain  its  ever-growing  desire  for 
novelty,  and  it  immediately  becomes  unhapp3\  God  would 
not  so  restrain  it ;  the  consequence  of  which  was,  it  sought 
some  other  form  of  being,  and  left  its  archangelic  manifes- 
tation. Thus  a  spirit  that  desires  to  develop  itself  in  a 
tree,  or  a  rose,  or  a  bird,  three  exquisite  bodies,  capable  of 
great  enjoyment,  is  permitted  to  do  so ;  and  this  was  what 
the  Greeks  meant  when  they  filled  the  forests  with  Dryads, 
and  gave  to  each  particular  tree  a  living  nj^mph,  whose  ex- 
istence terminated  with  the  tree  itself.  If  these  things 
were  not  animated  by  an  immortal  essence  of  spirit,  they 
could  not  survive  a  year.  Cut  down  a  tree ;  its  life  is  gone, 
its  spirit  is  departed,  it  decaj's  and  rots,  and  is  no  more. 
So  it  is  with  all  things.  Yet  men  see  this,  and  deny  a 
spirit-life  to  these  substances,  because  thej'  say  they  are 
devoid  of  reason,  instinct,  or  intelligence.  How  know  they 
that?  Who  would  not  rather  be  a  tree  or  rose  than  one  of 
the  great  herd  of  humankind  who  toil  and  drudge,  and 
have  no  thought  higher  than  that  of  animal  existence,  and 
the  support  of  the  gross  body  ?  In  the  eyes  of  a  Supreme 
Being,  is  not  the  life  of  the  tree  more  beautiful  in  all  re- 
spects ?  It  is  innocent,  pure  and  sacred.  But  what  is  the 
life  of  such  a  man  as  I  have  named  ?  And  what  is  his  in- 
telligence ?  and  who  from  heaven  told  him  that  the  tree  has 
not  great  and  noble  aspirations ;  and  that  when  it  lifts  its 
head  beneath  the  sun  and  stars  it  does  not  see  God,  in  and 
through  them,  and  does  not  feel  His  being  in  its  every 
fibre? 

The  reader  may  judge  how  all  this  entered  into  my  soul 
— soured  and  saddened  as  it  had  been  by  the  sensualisms 
and  abominations  which  I  had  seen  around  me! 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU.     155 

"You  assume  then,"  said  I,  "that  the  soul  pre-exists; 
that  it  was  an  immortal  essence  before  it  animated  the 
body  ?" 

"  I  assume  nothing,"  he  answered,  "  I  merely  say  what 
must  be  the  fact.  I  do  not  assume  that  the  sun  shines.  I 
see  it,  I  feel  it,  I  know  it.  In  the  same  way  I  know  that 
my  father  and  mother  did  not  make  my  soul.  God  made 
it.  But  when  ?  Why  millions  of  years  ago.  Then  He 
made  it,  and  it  was  worthy  of  His  hands ;  then  it  was  a 
great,  a  splendid,  a  divine  thing,  as  all  the  works  immedi- 
ately proceeding  from  God  are.  Taunt  not  Him  with  creat- 
ing such  frail,  miserable,  and  paltry  things  as  human  souls 
now  be.  It  is  they  themselves,  who,  sinking  from  their 
primal  majesty,  have  degenerated  into  their  present  lowli- 
ness. But  mankind  will  not  believe  this.  Their  wretched 
self-love  will  not  be  satisfied  with  any  thing  but  an  imme- 
diate creation  from  the  hand  of  the  Supreme.  Thus  they 
are  enabled  to  father  on  Him,  the  Pure  and  Just,  all  their 
shortcomings,  sins  and  imperfections.  God  made  me  so, 
says  the  thief  and  drunkard ;  I  can't  help  it ;  I  did  not 
make  myself.  Miscreant!  thou  liest.  Thou  didst  make 
thyself.  When  God  made  thee.  He  formed  thee  all  pure ; 
but  when  abandoning  Him,  thou  gavest  thyself  up  to  thine 
own  will,  then  began  that  change  in  thee,  which  finally 
flowers  forth  in  robbery  and  intemperance.  But  man,  you 
will  say,  is  unconscious  of  this  pre-existence.  It  is  not 
possible  but  that  if  he  lived  in  other  stages  of  being  he 
must  have  some  memory  of  them.  This  is  not  a  sound 
argument.  All  memory  is  seated  in  the  brain ;  destroy  the 
brain,  and  though  the  man  survives  he  loses  all  recollection 
of  the  past.  The  greatest  philosopher  of  the  day  becomes 
insane;  his  brain  softens;  his  memory  is  past  and  gone. 
Tell  him  that  he  existed  twenty  years  ago,  and  he  will  be- 
tray no  recollection  of  the  fact.  Does  this  prove  he  did 
not  exist  ?     You  yourself,  who  now  hear  me,  where  were 


156     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

you  this  clay  ten  3'cars  ?  What  were  3'our  thoughts,  your 
words,  your  actions  ?  You  cannot  t€ll.  Does  this  prove 
you  did  not  exist  ?  Yet  3'our  brain  is  the  same  now  as 
then,  and  I  am  assuming  tliat  your  memory  is  as  sound  as 
that  of  ordinary  men.  If  then  the  brain,  and  the  brain 
alone,  be  the  seat  of  memory,  how  can  your  spirit  possibly 
recollect  what  happened  in  some  prior  stage,  when  it  is 
separated  from  the  brain,  where  all  traces  of  that  existence 
would  be  treasured  up  ?  I  have  shown  you  that  even  with 
your  present  brain  you  cannot  recollect  what  took  place 
ten  or  fifteen  years  since.  How  then  is  it  possible  that  3'ou 
could  remember  what  took  place  ten  thousand  3'ears  since, 
unless  3'OU  had  the  same  brain  now  as  jon  had  then ;  or 
even  if  you  had  the  same  brain  now  as  then,  which  of 
course  it  would  be  impossible  you  could  have. 

"  Moreover,  is  it  beyond  all  cavil  established  that  we  have 
no  memory  of  the  past  ?  What  is  imagination — that  power 
of  building  splendid  castles  in  the  air ;  of  soaring  into  new 
regions  and  spheres ;  of  clothing  incidents  with  a  golden 
brilliancy  that  gives  to  them  the  hues  of  fairy  land  ?  How 
know  you  that  this  enchanting  fancy  is  not  a  dim  recollec- 
tion of  other  and  more  lovely  spheres  ?  You  hear  sweet 
music ;  you  are  fascinated ;  the  tears  roll  from  j^our  ej^es ; 
your  heart  melts  away  in  heavenly  feeling.  How  know  you 
that  this  also  is  not  memory  awakened  by  the  song  of 
happier  days  and  times  ?  Can  the  concurrence  of  a  few 
notes  alone  produce  so  powerful  an  effect  as  that  which  I 
have  described  ?  I  once  travelled  with  a  Dutchman  through 
the  Vale  of  Cashmere ;  at  the  close  of  a  long  day's  march, 
we  rested  in  a  beautiful  plain,  rich  with  silver  rills,  and 
flowers,  and  lovely  trees,  and  sleeping  as  it  were  under  a 
distant  mountain,  with  varied  tints  of  azure,  pink,  and 
violet.  '  Good  God  !'  said  the  Dutchman,  '  I  have  seen  all 
this  before.  How  well  I  recollect  it !  Every  foot  of  ground 
is  familiar  to  me,'  and  he  mentioned  several  remarkable 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MOKTAGU.     157 

])eauties  of  the  place,  which  had  not  then  disclosed  them- 
selves, but  which  we  subsequently  discoA'ered.  Was  not  this 
memory  ?  What  else  could  it  be  ?  This  dull  fool  had  never 
been  out  of  Europe  before ;  or  left  his  stagnant  pool  of  mud 
and  mammon ;  had  never  before  trodden  that  bewitching 
valley.  Yet  he  knew  every  feature  of  this  identical  spot  as 
well  as  any  native." 

These  doctrines  opened  to  my  mind  an  entirely  new  view 
of  Providence,  and  the  Divine  Laws,  and  proved  incontro- 
vertibly  the  necessity  of  human  responsibility  for  sin.  It 
is  clear  bej^ond  all  dispute,  that  if  God  made  my  soul  as  it 
is  at  present.  He,  not  I,  it  is,  who  should  be  adjudged 
resi)onsible  for  all  I  do.  I  am  no  free  agent,  for  how  can 
I  go  against  that  inclination  which  God  himself  has  given 
me?  But  this  in  fact  is  blasphemy  against  His  good- 
ness. To  preach  that  God  makes  men  predisposed  to  evil 
and  damns  them  because  they  commit  evil,  is  to  make 
him  a  demon,  not  a  Divine  Principle.  Yet  how  many  mil- 
lions of  people  there  are  who  honestly,  but  unthinkingly, 
hold  this  atheistical  notion  ;  and  never  once  meditate  on  the 
awful  consequence  to  which  it  leads.  If,  therefore,  God  did 
not  make  me  as  I  am,  it  follows  that  I  made  myself  so ;  and 
as  a  natural  consequence  I  must  pay  the  penalty  of  my  own 
misdoings.  This  at  once  vindicates  the  ways  of  God  to 
man.  Milton  sought,  or  fancied  that  he  sought,  to  do  this ; 
but  his  notions  of  God  were  altogether  mean,  despicable, 
and  grovelling ;  and  the  Almighty  Ruler  of  the  Heavens 
appears  in  his  pages  as  a  sort  of  creature  with  all  the  errors 
of  a  man,  and  none  of  the  sublime  majesty  of  a  God.  The 
devil  is  his  true  hero ;  and  while  he  represents  him  as  some- 
thing above  spirit,  he  makes  God  infinitely  below  it. 

Then  the  old  man  taught  me  the  true  age  of  the  earth,  or 
rather,  of  man's  existence  on  the  earth ;  which  he  said  had 
been  considerably  lessened  from  its  real  period,  for  the 
purpose  of  propping  up  certain  systems.     He  detailed  the 


158     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

wonderful  discoveries  which  the  old  astronomers  had  made, 
and  which  furnished  conclusive  proof  that  science  at  an 
early  period  had  made  gigantic  progress,  and  that  the  true 
solar  system,  which  we — vain  puppets — suppose  to  have 
been  a  recent  discovery,  was  perfectly  well  known  to  the 
most  ancient  men.  In  proof  of  this  he  mentioned  the  Cycle 
of  the  Naros,  which  was  known  thousands  of  years  before 
what  are  called  the  postdiluvian  ages.  This  cycle  consists 
of  31  periods  of  19,  and  one  of  11  years,  and  is  the  most 
perfect  of  the  astronomical  cycles.  It  consists  of  600  years 
of  7,200  solar  months,  or  219,146|-  daj^s;  and  this  same 
number  of  219,146^  gives  years  consisting  each  of  365  days, 
5  hours,  51  minutes  and  36  seconds,  which  differs  less  than 
3  minutes  from  what  its  length  is  observed  to  be  at  this  day. 
Supposing  this  cycle  were  correct  to  a  second,  if  on  the  1st 
of  January  at  noon,  a  new  moon  took  place,  it  would  take 
place  again  in  exactly  600  years,  at  the  same  moment  of  the 
day,  and  under  all  the  circumstances.  This  is  the  most 
perfect  cycle  ever  known ;  and  how  man}'^  hundreds  of 
years  must  it  not  have  taken  before  the  first  astronomers 
could  have  observed  and  recorded  the  heavenly  movements 
so  as  to  be  able  to  note  the  time  that  made  it  up ! 

Next  he  showed  me  the  reasonableness  of  the  Indian 
Metempsychosis,  which  is  erroneousl}'^  called  the  trans- 
migration of  souls.  Souls  do  not  change  their  bodies  on 
this  earth.  If  a  beggar  dies  to-morrow  he  is  not  found  next 
day  animating  a  dog.  This  is  the  vulgar  notion,  which 
those  who  get  their  bread  by  error  desire  to  propagate. 
But  the  true  Metempsychosis  is  this :  A  man  has  passed 
his  whole  life  like  Timur  or  Aureng-Zebe,  in  shedding  blood ; 
in  cruel  savage  thoughts ;  in  devising  cunning  schemes  and 
plots.  In  what  condition  does  his  soul  present  itself  before 
God  when  he  dies  ?  It  bears  upon  it  all  the  marks  of  those 
hideous  vices.  As  cruelty  and  tyrannic  power  give  a  man's 
appearance,  his  eyes,  mouth,  and  look,  all  the  dread  tokens 


EDWARD  WOBTLEY  MONTAGU.      159 

of  his  savage  nature,  so  also  do  they  imprint  themselves 
upon  his  soul ;  so  that  God  when  He  beholds  it  immediately 
knows  its  nature.  He  casts  it  forth  from  Him  ;  for  it  can- 
not enter  into  the  spheres  of  Purity.  It  wanders  away  in 
darkness ;  light  is  hateful  to  its  black  and  gloomy  nature. 
Here  it  gradually  suffers  until  its  period  is  expired ;  when 
it  is  again  permitted  to  assume  a  corporeal  development  in 
accordance  with  its  nature  and  propensities.  This  would 
be  probably  that  of  a  h3'ena,  or  a  wild  cat,  or  a  tiger,  if  its 
intellect  was  large ;  of  a  weasel  or  a  rat  if  its  intellect  was 
small  and  weak.  And  this  truth  is  shadowed  forth  in  the 
Hebrew  Scriptures  by  the  Stor^'  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  who 
worsliipped  the  Bull  Idol,  and  was  changed  into  a  wild 
beast  of  the  same  order. 

Thus  did  we  discourse — thus  did  he  teach  me.  We 
traced  man  from  his  first  appearance  on  the  earth,  down 
gradually  to  his  present  state ;  we  saw  the  various  forms 
of  existence  through  which  successive  races  passed ;  hunt- 
ing, nomadic,  warlike,  agricultural,  commercial.  The  scien- 
tific next  remains.  What  it  will  develop  mankind  into 
is  to  be  seen — but  it  is  as  yet  a  great  way  distant.  We 
traced  the  various  forms  of  religion,  and  identified  those 
general  features  of  a  sublime  original  which  all  creeds  pos- 
sess in  common.  The  various  systems  of  philosophy  we 
next  examined,  and  found  that  nearly  all  were  hollow  and 
fantastical.  The  old  man  felt  for  me  a  paternal  instinct. 
I  suppose  he  was  proud  of  the  progress  I  made ;  he  was 
evidently  gratified  with  the  devotion  which  I  displayed 
towards  him,  and  the  unmistakable  zeal  with  which  I  exe- 
cuted his  slightest  wish.  Those  were  pleasant  days  1  How 
difierent  from  the  gin-horse  curriculum  of  the  schools  I 
Nature  was  our  school-room ;  the  stars  our  monitors.  We 
wandered  by  the  mighty  sea ;  and  in  the  majesty  of  the 
splendor  around,  before,  and  over  us,  more  fully  learned  to 
appreciate  the  mystery  that  is  in  all  things. 


160     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

O  Nature !  0  thou  Supreme  Heaven !  How  I  thank  thee 
that  my  soul  had  nerve  enough  to  fly  from  man  and  mam- 
mon !  What  might  I  not  have  been  had  I  remained  forever 
the  serf  of  civilization,  and  all  its  accursed  crimes  1  I 
might  have  been  like  Walpole,  Pelham,  or  Bute,  Ministers 
of  England,  surrounded  by  the  wickedest  of  the  human 
race ;  obliged  by  force  of  circumstances  to  lie  and  fawn  and 
flatter ;  to  cringe  to  him  who  had  six  votes ;  to  be  the 
minion  of  the  man  who  commanded  twelve.  I  might  haA'^e 
been  forced  to  lie  to  every  fool  I  met ;  to  bow  down  to  the 
most  detestable  of  creatures,  because  they  could  command 
the  ear  of  the  many;  to  the  most  loathsome  of  women, 
because  they  could  dispose  of  the  passions  of  the  King. 
I  might  have  been  tempted  to  make  tlie  most  false  and 
evil  hypocrite  a  bishop,  because  he  had  votes  and  influence  ; 
and  to  have  placed  upon  the  bench,  as  administrators  of 
law,  men  whose  whole  lives  were  meanness,  falsehood,  vil- 
lany,  and  chicanery.  And  all  these  crimes  for  what  ?  A 
few  thousands  of  money ;  a  few  years  of  patronage  to  fel- 
lows whom  I  loathed ;  a  few  years  of  worship  by  creatures 
whom  I  scorned  ;  a  brief  period  of  homage  as  false  as  the 
empty  soap-bubble.  Many  and  many  a  day  have  I  wanted 
bread,  and  many  a  night  have  I  asked  myself  where  I 
should  lie  down,  but  never  once  have  I  regretted  that  I 
was  not  heir  to  my  father's  millions,  or  envied  the  lord 
and  master  of  Houghton. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

One  summer  evening,  after  one  of  our  disquisitions  on 
these  subjects,  Manasam  suggested  to  me  that  I  should  ask 
Akiba  to  narrate  his  history  for  us.     The  old  man  had  a 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     161 

parental — alas !  what  was  I  going  to  say  ? — I  mean  a  truly 
patriarchal  feeling  for  me,  and  he  indulged  me  as  a  spoiled 
child.  Indeed,  I  do  not  remember  tliat  he  ever  refused  me 
a  reasonable  request.  I  was  myself  not  a  little  inquisitive 
about  what  must  at  all  events  have  been  a  varied  experi- 
ence. I  asked  him  to  oblige  me ;  the  old  man  paused  for 
a  few  moments,  and  entering  his  tent,  returned  with  a  small 
parcel ;  he  then  resumed  his  seat  beneath  a  branching  tree, 
and  began  as  follows : 

"  You  ask  me  for  a  narrative  of  my  life,  and  you  shall 
have  it — briefly,  for  I  am  old,  and  my  lamp  is  nearly 
quenched ;  the  river  of  my  days  is  exhausted.  My  earliest 
recollections  are  of  tents  and  plains.  I  was  born  in  the 
desert ;  I  am  a  child  of  the  mountain  and  the  forest ;  the 
rapid  stream  and  the  tempest-footed  steed  were  my  first 
comi)anions.  My  father  was  a  robber — so,  indeed,  were 
all  our  tribe;  Belochees — whose  boy  dreams  are  tinged 
with  blood  and  pillage,  and  terrible  adventure.  Strange 
that  I,  who  drew  my  primal  breath  far  away  in  the  hills  of 
the  Orient,  under  a  hot  sun  and  fiery  heaven,  and  in  the 
parched  and  beam-reflecting  desert,  should  sink  into  the 
earth  in  this  cold  English  land,  and  beneath  its  varying 
skies  of  cloud,  mist  and  azvire ;  with  no  kindred  hand  to 
smooth  my  pillow,  or  draw  the  curtains  of  my  tent  when 
the  wind  blows  cold  and  raw ;  and  in  its  melancholy  wail  I 
seem  to  hear  the  spirits  of  my  sires  calling  to  their  last 
descendant. 

"  We  led  a  wild  life,  and  many  a  village  owned  our  sway. 
Our  swords  were  sceptres ;  where  they  waved  we  were  as 
kings.  The  flash  of  our  turbans  was  like  the  coming  of  light- 
ning ;  their  glittering  was  death.  Often  were  we  hunted 
over  the  plains  by  omrahs  fierce  and  bloody  as  ourselves — 
the  legalized  banditti  of  the  land ;  but  our  fleet  Khorassan 
steeds  bore  us  safely  from  their  fangs,  and  we  avenged  our- 
selves in  smoking  huts  and  rifled  harems.    Had  we  been 


162     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

ten  thousand  strong  we  might  have  founded  a  dynasty,  and 
been  kings  by  all  the  laws  that  regulate  and  delude  man- 
kind, but  we  were  never  more  than  a  few  hundreds ;  and 
so  we  were  marauders  and  public  enemies,  against  whom 
every  man's  dagger  was  uplifted,  and  those  lies  called  laws 
were  put  in  force. 

"  We  were  only  conquerors  on  a  small  scale,  and  we  had 
not  killed  or  robbed  enough  to  take  our  place  in  histories 
though  we  were  celebrated  by  many  a  bard. 

"  It  was  a  wild  life,  and  yet  a  glorious,  happy  one !  We 
were  here  to-day,  and  sixty  miles  away  to-morrow.  We 
spared  the  very  poor,  but  had  no  mercy  on  the  rich,  who 
lorded  it  over  slaves ;  and  though  they  usually  sprang  from 
nothing,  were  far  more  proud  and  cruel  than  the  hereditary 
nobles  of  the  kingdom.  In  one  night  we  often  captured  as 
many  as  sixty  camels,  and  drove  them  over  the  plain  in 
one  long  file.  Oh  !  how  we  scorned  the  mean-eyed  dwellers 
in  cities,  whose  sneaking  walk  and  fawning  looks,  and  winc- 
ing tones  of  sham  humility  were  so  widely  different  from 
ours ;  for  even  the  least  of  us  when  fettered,  wore  the  inde- 
pendent air  of  a  prince ;  and  even  in  his  dungeon  flashed 
around  the  splendid  fire  of  freedom.  With  our  swords, 
shields  and  matchlocks,  we  thought  ourselves  a  match  for 
any  equal  number  of  men  in  the  world ;  and  who  shall  say 
that  we  were  not  so  ?  Our  chief  was  a  tall,  fierce  fellow, 
with  black  matted  hair,  like  so  many  clustering  vipers  be- 
neath a  ponderous  turban ;  his  eyes  were  strong  and  flaming 
as  an  eagle's  ;  his  breath  was  fiery,  like  a  lion's  breath.  I 
would  you  could  have  seen  him.  He  was  of  that  mighty 
race  of  men  who  raised  Carnac,  Stonehenge,  and  the  mys- 
terious wonders  of  Elora ;  who  built  the  Babylonian  Tower, 
and  reared  the  sunken  splendors  of  Maha  Bali  Puram. 
These  heroic  sons  of  gods,  or  demi-gods,  are  departed,  and 
in  their  place  subsists  a  weak,  degenerate  tribe  of  pale-eyed, 
craven-hearted  drudges,  who  love  to  compass  gold  by 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      163 

trickery  and  deceit,  rather  than  by  the  daring  of  the  strong 
right  hand.  And  they  win  it,  but  are  not  worthy  of  the 
prize.  My  soul  spits  at  them  ;  my  heart  loathes  their  very 
name.  I  hate  to  think  of  them — so  I  have  betaken  myself 
away  to  die  amid  the  green  hills  and  silent  dales,  where  I 
feel  freedom,  and  see  not  knaves  or  cowards.  This  was 
my  sword,"  and  here  the  old  man  produced  a  Belochee 
blade  of  the  most  exquisite  temper.  It  was  folded  rev- 
erently in  silk  and  velvet,  and  when  he  bared  it  to  the 
setting  sun,  he  kissed  its  glittering  point  as  if  it  were  some 
cherished  relic  of  a  fakir  or  saint,  or  holy  Yogee  of  the 
fanes.  On  the  upper  part,  and  just  beneath  the  hilt,  was 
graven  a  sacred  motto — "  God  gave  the  sword  to  man  to 
save  his  spirit  from  dishonor."  And  as  he  deciphered  for 
me  this  warrior  text,  his  eyes  shone  with  some  of  their 
ancient  lightning ;  and  I  could  see  that  his  heart  beat  with 
a  stronger  pulse  than  usual.  He  handed  the  sword  to 
myself  first,  and  afterwards  to  Manasam ;  and  evidently 
enjoyed  the  feeling  of  respect  which  we  appeared  to  evince  as 
we  touched  this  cherished  memorial  of  past  achievements. 

"  With  that  sword,"  said  he,  "  I  have  slain  fifty  men.  I 
speak  not  figuratively,  but  an  actual  fact.  When  the 
fiftieth  head  had  rolled  upon  the  dust,  then,  and  not  till 
then,  did  I  relinquish  the  loved  companion  of  my  j^outh." 

And  kissing  it  again,  he  enveloped  it  within  its  gorgeous 
covering,  and  laid  it  by  his  side. 

"  Our  robber  chief  was  wedded — well,  I  suppose  I  must 
say  wedded — to  a  daughter  of  Sindhia.  Where  he  got  her, 
no  one  knew.  Whether  she  had  been  torn  from  a  forest 
cot,  or  from  a  royal  harem,  was  a  secret.  Enough  for  us 
was  it  that  she  was  our  Chieftain's  wife,  and  that  her  word, 
or  even  nod,  was  law  absolute.  Dark  she  was  as  starry 
night ;  dark,  yet  gloriously  bright  and  lovely.  When  you 
looked  into  her  black  eyes,  rolling  spheres  of  flame  beneath 
her  white  and  queen-like  brow ;  when  you  watched  her  lung 


164     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

raven  hair,  floating  loosely  over  her  neck  of  pure  snow,  as 
I  have  seen  the  sable  clouds  flj'ing  in  wild  disorder  over 
the  crystal  heaven,  or  viewed  her  rose-like  mouth,  or, 
sweeter  still,  listened  to  the  deep  music  of  Iier  voice,  you 
knew  that  a  woman  of  superior  order  was  before  you,  and 
that  she  was  made  for  the  greatest  hero  in  the  world.  She 
was  a  splendid  savage — wild  as  a  tigress,  and  equally  un- 
tamable. You  loved,  yet  dreaded  to  look  upon  her.  Her 
motions  were  as  quick  as  lightning  flashes.  Slie  was  never 
still;  you  could  as  easily  chain  the  winds  of  heaven,  or 
the  green  and  ever-gliding  ocean.  Rest  was  wholly  foreign 
to  her  nature.  She  was  one  of  those  spirits  of  flame  that 
if  they  are  still,  die  and  are  forgotten.  Her  lord  was  an 
uncultivated  brute — strong  as  an  elephant,  bloody  as  a 
hyena,  subtle  as  a  lion,  but  wholly  rude  and  ignorant.  He 
was  a  mere  animal.  As  an  animal,  he  was  perfect ;  for  no 
one  member  of  the  brute  creation  could  be  compared  with 
him ;  but  as  a  man,  he  was  inferior  to  many  of  our  tribe. 
I  have  seen  at  Athens  and  Rome  statues  of  demi-gods  or 
heroes, — Hercules,  Theseus,  and  Moses.  Well,  such  in 
outline  was  Beloli.  He  had  their  mighty  limbs  and  muscles 
of  steel ;  but  he  had  no  informing  soul  within  to  give  re- 
finement or  perfection  to  this  gorgeous  mass  of  bone  and 
flesh,  and  symmetry.  What  sympathy  could  there  be  be- 
tween him  and  Hamida?  There  was  none.  It  was  the 
living  wedded  to  the  dead.  It  was  the  star  Yenusi  bound 
to  the  dark  and  gloomy  Saturn.  It  was  a  spirit  of  light, 
chained  to  one  of  the  dark  spirits  of  clay,  chafing  the  chain, 
restless  and  ever  more  unhappy. 

"  Upon  a  time  it  happened  that  she  fell  ill.  There  was 
no  leech  among  our  tribe.  Beloli  called  two  or  three 
enchanters  to  his  aid,  but  their  nostrums  were  of  no  avail ; 
Hamida  was  evidently  dying.  Beloli's  rage  knew  no 
bounds.  The  baffled  magi  were  scourged  out  of  the  tents ; 
they  were  dismissed  with  every  mark  of  ignominy.    In  vain 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      165 

they  denounced  curses  and  revenge ;  he  heaped  dirt  upon 
i;hem,  and  hunted  them  out  of  our  bounds  with  his  dogs. 
All  was  now  confusion  and  despair.  At  this  moment  I 
came  forward.  I  had  always  been  a  seeker  after  knowl- 
edge ;  though  a  robber  and  the  son  of  robbers,  I  had  gained 
many  a  hidden  gem  of  science.  I  had  been  singularly  for- 
tunate also ;  for  I  had  once  rendered  a  service  to  an  old 
crone  on  the  hills,  by  saving  her  idiot  son  from  a  flogging 
in  our  tents,  and  she  had  repaid  the  obligation  by  impart- 
ing to  me  the  secret  virtues  of  many  a  lowly  herb.  I 
pledged  my  life  for  Hamida's  recovery.  Beloli  scanned  me 
for  some  time  with  a  suspicious  eye,  but  at  length  accepted 
my  offer.  "  Villain,"  he  said  ;  "  what  knowest  thou  of  the 
healing  art  ?  But  if  thou  failest,  thou  shalt  die  the  death." 
I  willingly  consented,  and  he  introduced  me  into  the  tent. 
Hamida  was  there — oh,  how  beautiful ! — how  glowingly 
beautiful  even  in  the  flush  of  fever  1  With  a  simple  decoc- 
tion I  at  once  produced  a  change ;  her  recovery  was  rapid  j 
she  was  well  almost  before  it  could  be  hoped  she  was  con- 
valescent. I  had  indeed  snatched  her  from  the  jaws  of 
death.  The  means  were  not  profound,  but  Hamida  knew 
that  I  had  saved  her  life.  This  was  all  the  reward  I 
sought.  Beloli  dismissed  me  with  thanks.  He  gave  me  a 
suit  of  armor,  all  gold — it  had  been  plundered  from  a 
palace.  But  I  cared  not  for  it,  and  never  wore  it.  Six 
months  passed  away,  and  I  had  almost  forgotten  what  had 
taken  place ;  when,  as  I  was  lying  one  night,  alone  by  the 
river,  looking  at  the  moonbeams  playing  over  its  surface, 
I  heard  a  slight  noise ;  I  started  up,  thinking  it  was  a  wild 
beast  that  stole  upon  me.  I  pulled  out  an  arrow,  and 
began  to  fit  it  to  the  string ;  when  suddenly  a  low,  sweet 
laugh  was  heard,  and  I  was  struck  on  the  face  by  a  piece 
of  jasmine.  I  dropped  my  arrow  and  waited ;  no  one  ap- 
peared, and  I  lay  down  again.     I  knew  that  the  lady — if  it 

was  a  lady — would  not  take  all  this  trouble  for  nothing ; 
11 


166     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

and  I  determined  that  she  should  seek  until  she  found  me. 
All,  however,  remained  still ;  I  lingered  there  for  an  hour, 
and  the  moon  sank,  and  all  was  darkness,  and  I  went  home 
to  my  tent,  angry  with  mj^self  that  I  had  not  followed  up 
what  seemed  a  lucky  adventure.  The  next  night,  and  many 
nights  after,  I  sought  the  same  retreat,  but  no  one  came. 
I  cursed  myself  for  a  fool.  I  stamped  with  rage,  and  was 
almost  tempted  to  destroy  myself.  Thus  three  or  four 
weeks  fled — fled,  did  I  say? — no,  crawled,  crawled  with 
leaden  feet,  till  I  was  in  despair  and  almost  mad.  A  thou- 
sand wild,  conflicting  thoughts  made  chaos  of  my  hosom, 
and  I  grew  weak,  timid,  desperate  and  savage  by  turns.  I 
no  longer  entered  with  anxiety  into  the  measures  of  my 
companions.  Many  laughed  at  me  as  a  poltroon,  but  I 
cared  not.     Yet  one  eye  watched  me  during  all  the  time. 

"Well,  let  me  come  to  the  point.  What  is  the  use  of 
spinning  out  an  old  man's  legend  ?  We  met,  Hamida  and 
I — how,  when,  or  where  it  matters  not.  She  it  was  who 
had  stolen  upon  me — but  she  dared  not  follow  it  up  then. 
She  retreated,  half  frightened  at  what  she  did.  But  her 
fiery  nature  could  not  rest.  Love  occupied  her  whole  being ; 
she  was  wild,  mad,  fevered  with  her  passion.  We  met — 
we  loved — what  more  is  needed  to  be  said  ?  Oh,  the  wild 
delirium  of  that  passionate  embrace!  We  were  young — 
wild — dreamers — ^lovers.  These  phrases  comprise  every 
thing — ^they  embody  a  whole  world  of  romance,  sentiment 
and  recklessness.  But  it  lasted  not.  Those  stolen  inter- 
views were  sweet,  but  full  of  danger.  Beloli  heard  of  our 
meetings ;  some  of  his  numerous  spies  whispered  into  his 
ear.  He  dissembled  well.  No  look  or  word  betrayed  his 
knowledge.  One  day  he  called  me  to  him.  'Akiba,'  he 
said, '  great  is  my  faith  in  you.  I  am  upon  an  expedition 
to  the  far  ofl"  hills — I  shall  be  absent  for  a  week.  Assume 
my  place  of  command,  and  in  my  absence  let  your  word  be 
a  law  unto  the  brethren  that  remain.'     He  called  them  bo^ 


BDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     167 

fore  him,  and  thus  he  spake,  '  Brother,  I  depart — I  go  with 
fifty  men  upon  an  expedition.  All  ye  who  remain  obey 
Akiba;  he  is  my  lieutenant;  obey  him  as  myself.'  And 
they  promised  to  do  so.  That  evening  he  departed;  his 
fifty  chosen  companions  were  with  him.  The  watch-fires 
were  lighted ;  I  posted  sentinels,  and  stole  into  the  tent  of 
Beloli.  Hamida  was  there.  The  hours  passed  on  golden 
wings;  the  stars  rose  one  after  the  other,  and  walked  in 
luminous  paths  across  the  purple  heaven,  and  we  looked 
out  into  that  luminous  arch  of  fiery  beauty ;  and  she  lay 
upon  my  breast;  for  deeply,  passionately  did  I  love  Ha- 
mida; and  when  the  night  was  at  its  middle  course,  we 
retired  into  the  inner  tent  and  fell  asleep.  I  was  awakened 
by  a  strange  noise.  Methought  I  heard  the  distant  tramp 
of  feet,  yet  it  was  a  still  and  stealthy  tramp.  I  rose  to 
look  forth  into  the  gloom.  Hamida  was  instantly  beside 
me.  There  was  a  magnetic  sympathy  between  us;  when 
she  slept,  I  slept ;  when  either  woke,  slumber  fled  from  the 
brain  of  the  other.  She  folded  her  arms  around  me  and 
said, '  Dear  Akiba,  what  is  it  V  I  whispered  to  her  to  be 
still,  and  making  a  slit  in  the  tent,  we  peered  outwards. 
My  heart  beat — was  still — and  beat  again.  She  folded  her 
long,  white,  loving  arms  around  me,  saying,  'It  is  a  dream, 
Akiba;  be  not  alarmed,  come.'  And  she  half  pulled  me 
backwards.  But  I  felt  an  inward  monitor,  more  powerful 
even  than  Hamida  to  my  heart  and  spirit,  and  the  monitor 
said,  *  Watch  1'  Suddenly,  quicker  than  I  can  speak  the 
words,  the  tent  was  surrounded.  I  saw  a  body  of  armed 
men  gather  about  us.  All  was  darkness,  all  was  silence ; 
but  there  was  a  cool  resolve  about  their  movements  that 
seemed  the  prelude  to  a  dreadful  deed.  Then  a  loud  voice 
spake, '  Akiba,  come  forth  1'  It  was  the  voice  of  Beloli.  It 
shot  through  me  like  an  arrow  of  death ;  not  for  my  own 
sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  Hamida.  I  knew  not  what  to  do, 
but  silence  seemed  the  wisest  course  I  could  adopt.    Beloli 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

waited  for  some  moments;  at  length,  finding  that  there 
was  no  answer,  he  advanced,  armed,  towards  the  tent.  His 
men  followed  him.  'Stand  back!'  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  I  feared  him  not.  Why  should  I  ?  He  was  a 
ravisher  of  this  fair  woman.  He  had  dragged  her  from 
her  home;  he  had  forced  her  to  be  his.  Her  heart  she 
never  gave  him — nay,  she  loathed  his  very  presence.  In 
giving  herself  up  to  me  she  had  broken  no  pledge,  she  had 
committed  no  breach  of  faith;  she  had  violated  no  vow. 
Beloli  had  destroj^ed — I  had  saved  her.  Towards  him  all 
her  feelings  were  those  of  hatred ;  to  me  she  felt  gratitude, 
and  where  a  woman  gives  her  grateful  heart  we  know  that 
she  gives  all.  Therefore  did  I  fear  him  not.  I  knew  that 
I  had  done  him  no  wrong.  I  blushed  not  in  the  least.  I 
trembled  not  before  him.  I  advanced  and  pulled  open  the 
tent.  I  had  drawn  my  sword.  '  Here  I  am,'  I  said,  '  what 
wan  test  thou  with  me,  Beloli?'  He  started  back;  terrible 
in  his  strength  though  he  was,  he  did  not  hope  that  I  should 
confront  him.  'Yillain!'  he  said,  'thou  shalt  die,  and  thou 
shalt  not  die  alone!"  Then  he  turned  to  his  men  and 
cried,  'Fire!'  but  before  they  could  do  so  Haraida  was  at 
my  side.  Her  eyes  flashed ;  she  flung  herself  before  me ; 
the  stars  gleamed  over  her  with  their  splendid  light ;  never 
had  she  looked  so  beautiful.  Her  night  robe  only  was  on 
her,  and  half  her  magnificent  form  could  be  seen.  The 
robbers  started  back ;  the  majesty  of  her  appearance,  the 
glorious  spirit  which  she  evinced,  abashed,  appalled,  trans- 
fixed them  with  a  mighty  awe.  ' Fire !'  she  said,  'fire,  oh, 
friends !  but  let  every  shot  be  aimed  at  me,  for  I  alone  am 
guiltj"- — if  guilt  there  be.  This  youth  is  innocent  of  wrong.' 
And  she  again  presented  herself  like  a  buckler  in  my  front, 
so  that  if  they  discharged  their  pieces,  they  must  have 
destroyed  her.  I  was  so  utterly  confused  and  paralyzed 
with  fear  for  her  that  I  knew  not  what  to  do — otherwise  I 
believe  I  should  have  rushed  forward  upon  Beloli's  sw^ord. 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     169 

*  Fire !'  he  said  again,  with  a  ferocious  cry,  but  they  would 
not  fire.  Beloli  himself  moved  not.  In  a  moment  the  tent 
pole  was   removed,  and  we  were  enveloped  in  its  folds. 

*  Fly,'  said  she, '  fly  to  the  hills,  the  hills,  and  I  will  follow.' 
I  easily  escaped  ;  but  when  I  looked  she  was  not  near  me. 
I  hid  myself  under  a  hillock  where  a  clump  of  bushes  grew, 
and  waited  for  her  with  a  beating  heart ;  but  she  came  not. 
I  stole  down  towards  the  camp  again.  Before  I  had  gone 
half  way,  a  fierce  light  rose  up  around  the  fallen  tent ;  the 
thick  black  felt  ignited  rapidly ;  a  fearful  blaze  was  seen  of 
dry  and  green  wood,  and  roimd  the  burning  centre  were 
the  robbers  and  Beloli,  making  a  horrible  outcry  to  the 
noise  of  tom-toms  and  sitarrs.  My  blood  ran  cold ;  Ha- 
mida  had  died  to  save  me ;  she  had  sacrificed  herself  for 
me — most  worthless.  In  that  moment,  in  that  humiliating 
thought,  I  died  a  hundred  times.  Yet  was  my  heart  filled 
with  admiration  for  this  noble  woman.  I  had  still  my 
matchlock  in  my  hand,  that  trusted  tube,  whose  aim  had 
never  failed.  The  flame,  and  smoke,  and  sparks  of  death 
now  rose  higher  and  higher.  No  cry  was  heard  from  be- 
neath the  blazing  tent.  She  had  either  perished  instantly, 
or  else  that  haughty  heart  disdained  to  weep.  Beloli 
laughed ;  he  ran  round  the  fire  with  fierce  exultation ;  his 
companions  seemed  pleased  that  at  all  events  they  had  not 
shed  the  blood  of  their  mistress.  The  distinction  between 
shooting  and  burning  her  to  death  was  a  nice  one ;  I  sup- 
pose it  satisfied  the  casuists  among  them.  At  all  events, 
they  looked  on  and  did  not  interpose,  while  Beloli  heaped 
thicker  and  thicker  the  blazing  brands.  Then  he  raised 
his  sword  and  waved  it  over  his  head,  but  "in  that  instant 
he  fell  dead  into  the  very  fire  himself  had  raised,  and  the 
echo  of  my  matchlock  rang  among  the  hills." 

Here  the  old  man  was  silent — he  remained  so  for  a  con- 
siderable interval.  Suddenly  he  flung  himself  upon  the 
ground — bemoaned  aloud;  his  agony  was  dreadful  to  behold. 


170     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

The  big  tears  coursed  each  other  down  his  cheek  and  beard ; 
his  bosom  shook  with  an  internal  agony  too  great  for  words. 
He  moaned,  he  cried,  he  beat  his  breast ;  he  struck  his  head 
against  the  earth.  I  abnost  feared  that  he  was  about  to 
destro}^  himself.  Never  have  I  seen  grief  more  violent.  It 
was  dreadful  in  so  old  a  man.  "O  Hamida,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  form  and  beautiful  spirit  of  my  first,  my  last,  my  only  love, 
look  upon  me  from  the  sphere  of  light  and  beauty,  where  I 
know  thou  art  enthroned — ^look  upon  me  with  thj''  sweet  fond 
eyes,  and  know  by  all  the  agonies  I  have  endured  and  still 
endure,  that  none  but  thou  hast  had  my  heart.  Thou  hast 
gone  before  me — for  me  indeed  hast  thou  sacrificed  thy  life ; 
yet  was  not  thy  love  greater  than  mine,  and  could  I  by  ten 
thousand  deaths  bring  thee  back  once  more  to  earth  and  life, 
ten  thousand  deaths  would  I  endure  in  proof  of  what  I  feel. 
Fair  woman  !  noble  heart !  oh,  hear  me !  A  wanderer  have 
I  been — a  wild  and  wayward  sinner ;  unworthy  of  a  love  so 
great,  so  high,  so  holy  and  exalted,  as  thine.  Oh  I  what  am 
I  that  thou  shouldst  die  for  me  ? — a  weak,  wretched  worm. 
Yet  do  I  love  thee — I  dare  to  love  thee  who  art  all  splendor 
and  beauty.  Pray  for  me,  O  Hamida — pray  for  me  to  the 
Supreme — ^to  thee  will  Alia  hearken,  for  thou  art  of  the 
spirits  whom  He  loves ;  but  as  for  me,  poor  miserable  out^ 
cast,  I  dare  not  lift  m3^  voice  to  Him.  O  God,  0  Father, 
for  her  sake  grant  that  we  ma}'^  meet  again — Thy  heaven 
were  a  void  to  me  if  I  had  not  Hamida." 

We  did  all  we  could  to  soothe  the  old  man,  but  success 
was  impossible.  He  would  not  listen — perhaps  he  did  not 
hear.  He  lay  in  terrible  sufiering,  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted. We  commended  him  to  the  care  of  one  of  the  women, 
and  took  our  leave.  We  did  not  see  him  for  several  days. 
When  we  met,  it  was  by  chance  amid  the  hills.  The  old 
man  seemed  to  have  grown  older  ;  the  lapse  of  a  week  had 
apparently  added  twenty  years  to  his  head.  He  did  not 
seem  to  notice  usj  he  was  absorbed  in  deep  meditation. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     171 

We  did  not  obtrude  upon  him ;  his  grief  was  too  sacred  to 
be  disturbed.  A  month  elapsed,  and  we  again  met.  He 
introduced  the  subject  himself.  We  sat  under  the  ruined 
church.  The  sun  was  sinking,  and  there  was  a  golden 
valley  of  light  in  the  west. 

"  Zala-Mayna,"  said  Akiba,  "  look  upon  yonder  sunset. 
Like  it  are  the  dreams  and  hopes  of  youth.  You  see  a 
gorgeous  valley,  a  castle  of  pure  gold,  with  battlements  of 
silver,  and  a  purple  lake  of  waters.  It  seems  the  abode  of 
heavenly  spirits.  The  green  waters  smile  in  sunny  bright- 
ness beneath ;  the  East  is  darkened  as  if  with  violet  lines ; 
but  they  are  tinged  with  golden  brilliancy.  If  any  earthly 
scene  can  give  you  an  idea  of  celestial  beauty,  now  you  may 
behold  it.  But  like  all  terrestrial  things,  this  is  an  unreal 
spectacle.  Even  while  you  gaze  upon  it,  the  valley  darkens, 
the  castle  melts  away  into  an  orange  colored  mist,  the  silver 
battlements  fade  into  a  dim  twilight,  and  the  lake  of  purple 
water  grows  into  dim  cloud.  So  it  is  with  all  that  is  on 
earth.  Every  thing  we  see  is  Maya ;  a  faint  and  transitory 
illusion.  The  skeptical  in  my  country  say  that  God  also  ib 
Maya  ;  but  the  truly  sage  know  that  He  alone  is  real,  but 
that  all  else  is  the  Maya  of  the  fancy.  Follow  and  adore 
Him,  therefore,  through  all  vicissitudes ;  all  else  but  He  is 
vapor." 

We  conversed  until  the  Evening  Star  arose.  Our  themes 
were  high  and  holy.  When  we  were  wrapped  in  darkness, 
Akiba  said, 

"  Let  me  resume  my  story  where  I  broke  off ;  yet  all  the 
rest  is  plain  prose.  This  was  the  epic  of  my  life,  and  no 
man  has  two  epics.  You  must  be  content  for  the  remainder 
with  the  dull  lees.  I  vowed  revenge,  and  fulfilled  my  vow. 
There  was  not  one  of  those  fifty  bandits  who  thus  sur- 
rounded the  tent  and  destroyed  Hamida^  that  I  did  not 
follow  up,  and,  in  the  course  of  time,  destroy.  It  took  me 
nearly  six  years  before  I  had  completed  my  purpose,  but  at 


172     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

the  end  of  that  time  I  had  fifty  dried  scalps  of  my  com- 
panions. No  man  can  ever  know  what  pains,  what  toils, 
what  strange  disguises  it  required  before  I  could  accomplish 
this  glorious  vengeance.  But  at  the  end  of  that  time  the 
great  object  of  my  life  had  been  gained.  I  was  at  peace. 
I  carried  the  scalps  to  the  place  where  we  encamped  on  that 
fatal  night ;  and  on  the  very  spot  where  stood  Beloli's  tent, 
and  the  remains  of  Hamida  reposed,  I  made  a  funeral  pile, 
and  sacrificed  them  to  her  manes.  I  then  fled  into  a  distant 
part  of  the  country,  and  for  a  while  sojourned  in  the  woods. 
I  lived  with  nature,  and  gave  a  respite  to  my  passions.  But 
after  a  year  all  the  ardor  of  my  nature  again  broke  forth. 
I  longed  for  action.  I  panted  once  again  to  mingle  in  the 
fiery  struggles  of  life.  Shah  Jehan  was  now  involved  in 
troubles ;  the  sceptre  of  Hindoostan  trembled  in  his  feeble 
grasp.  Addicted  to  his  pleasures  he  was  unable  to  reduce 
his  sons  to  order ;  he  lived  only  in  his  past  glories ;  luxury 
and  magnificence  were  all  his  care.  But  his  four  sons — they 
were  perpetually  fomenting  strife  and  discord.  The  fiercest 
hatred  burned  in  their  hearts.  Dara,  the  oldest  and  noblest, 
had  been  invested  by  his  father  with  a  share  of  the  sovereign 
power ;  but  Aureng  Zebe  had  long  marked  out  the  gorgeous 
crown  of  India  for  himself,  and  the  better  to  assure  success, 
ke  had  assumed  the  mask  of  religious  zeal  and  holiness. 
His  austerities  were  the  themes  of  applause,  but  only  a  few 
were  cognizant  of  the  ambition  of  his  soul.  He  gathered 
partizans  from  all  sides ;  he  was  profuse  in  promises ;  he  was 
lavish  also  in  rewards.  Inferior  in  figure  and  manner  to 
his  two  elder  brothers,  Dara  and  Sooja,  and  in  true  nobility 
of  heart  tp  his  younger  brother  Morad,  he  outshone  them 
by  an  appearance  of  solidity  and  gravity,  which  gave  weight 
to  all  he  said  and  did.  He  was  plausible,  false,  and  dis- 
simulating; and  could  sow  dissension  among  the  most 
intimate  friends,  without  himself  appearing  to  be  aught 
except  the  mutual  confidant  of  both.     When  the  Mogul  fell 


EDWARD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU.     173 

ill,  and  Dara  had  half  assumed  the  sovereignty,  Soojah 
rebelled,  but  was  speedily  overthrown.  Morad,  the  youngest 
son,  now  took  the  iield.  He  wrote  to  Aureng  Zebe,  and 
solicited  his  assistance.  This  crafty  prince  was  delighted 
at  the  proposal.  He  well  knew  that  if  with  Morad's  help  he 
could  destroy  the  predominant  power  of  Dara,  he  would 
have  no  difficulty  of  getting  rid  of  Morad  himself,  as  soon 
as  he  had  served  his  purpose.  He  sent  an  answer,  accusing 
Dara  of  weakness,  and  Soojah  of  infidelity ;  both  were 
consequently  unworthy  of  the  crown.  'As  for  me,'  said 
he, '  I  have  long  since  dedicated  myself  to  the  service  of 
God ;  I  desire  only  that  safety  and  tranquillity  which  suit 
the  fervency  of  my  devotion.  But  I  will,  with  my  poor 
abilities,  assist  Morad  to  take  possession  of  a  sceptre  which 
the  united  wishes  of  the  people  of  Hindoostan  have  already 
placed  in  his  hands.  Morad  may  then  think  of  his  faithful 
Aureng  Zebe,  and  assign  him  a  quiet  retreat,  that  he  may 
pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the  austerities  of  religion, 
and  in  communion  with  God.'  Morad  was  utterly  deceived ; 
he  levied  troops,  and  among  his  new  recruits  I  was  one. 
We  crossed  the  Nerbudda,  and  having  joined  the  forces  of 
Aureng  Zebe,  tried  our  strength  against  the  Maha  Rajah. 
A  terrible  battle  ensued.  We  were  on  the  right  flank; 
Aureng  Zebe  occupied  the  left.  After  a  bloody  conflict  we 
succeeded.  The  Maha  Rajah  fled,  and  we  entered  Ugein  in 
triumph.  Great  was  the  consternation  now  at  the  Court  of 
Shah  Jehan.  The  Emperor  himself  resolved  to  take  the 
field ;  a  step  that  would  have  destroyed  the  power  of  Aureng 
Zebe  in  one  day,  so  greatly  was  Shah  Jehan  still  adored  by 
all  the  soldiers ;  but  Darah  dissuaded  him  and  went  in 
person  against  the  two  rebel  leaders.  We  met  in  the  plains 
of  Guzerat.  Darah  himself  led  on  the  troops.  Never  was 
there  a  more  desperate  fight,  but  the  fall  of  Rustum  in  the 
beginning  of  the  battle  destroyed  the  expectations  of  Darah. 
With  the  life  of  his  bravest  general  ended  all  further  chance 


174     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

of  victory.  His  troops  fought  like  lions,  but  his  evil  star 
prevailed.  A  variety  of  untoward  accidents  intervened; 
and  at  the  very  moment  when  he  should  have  led  his  soldiers 
against  the  wearied  forces  of  his  brothers,  his  elephant 
driver  retreated  in  a  panic,  and  all  was  lost.  Aureng  Zebe 
succeeded  almost  b}'^  a  miracle.  Never  was  a  more  extra- 
ordinary combination  of  lucky  accidents  than  those  that 
won  for  him  that  eventful  battle. 

"  Of  the  subsequent  fate  and  fall  of  Morad,  why  need  I 
speak  ?  That  brave  prince  became  a  victim  to  the  treach- 
ery of  his  brother.  Aureng  Zebe  assumed  the  imperial 
crown  at  Delhi,  and  Shah  Jehan  became  his  prisoner.  With 
tlie  fall  of  Morad,  his  soldiers  were  transferred  to  the  new 
monarch,  and  1  now  swore  fealty  to  Aureng  Zebe.  But  he 
was  not  destined  to  sit  beneath  the  imperial  umbrella  with- 
out perpetrating  other  crimes.  Soliman,  the  son  of  Dara, 
was  yet  in  arms.  Dara  himself  was  at  the  head  of  a  large 
army.  Aureng  Zebe  marched  forth  to  meet  him.  We  ar- 
rived on  the  banks  of  the  Suttuluz,  but  there  was  no  oppos- 
ing foe.  Disunion  was  in  the  councils  of  Dara ;  his  camp 
was  full  of  spies  sent  by  the  usurping  emperor,  who  sowed 
suspicion  and  dissension.  In  the  night  preceding  our  arri- 
val he  fled.  We  pursued  him  rapidly.  Our  scouts  informed 
us  that  he  had  taken  the  direction  of  Moultan,  and  thither 
we  advanced.  But  news  was  brought  to  Aureng  Zebe 
that  Sooja  now  was  in  the  field,  and  was  marching  on 
Delhi.  The  emperor  left  the  main  army  with  some  chosen 
troops,  and  went  to  meet  his  brother.  We,  in  the  mean- 
time, followed.  Dara  again  fled.  He  pursued  various 
routes,  but  at  length  made  a  final  stand  at  Ajmere,  where 
he  fortified  his  camp.  Aureng  Zebe  having,  in  the  mean- 
time, destroyed  the  forces  of  Sooja,  now  rejoined  us  with 
his  victorious  troops.  But  the  ramparts  of  his  brother  dis- 
mayed him.  He  prepared  to  outwit  him.  When  the  rigor 
of  the  lion  availed  not,  he  knew  how  to  put  forth  the  subt- 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.     175 

lety  of  the  fox.  Two  of  his  generals  had  formerlj'^  served 
under  Dara,  but  had  fled  from  him  as  his  star  began  to 
wane.  These  Aureng  Zebe  now  employed  in  one  of  those 
crafty  devices  which  never  fail  pretenders  to  religion. 
They  sent  a  letter  to  Dara,  craving  forgiveness,  and  offer- 
ing assistance,  provided  he  would  leave  the  gates  of  his 
camp  open  for  their  reception.  Dara  fell  into  the  snare. 
Before  the  day  dawned  all  our  troops  were  in  arms ;  we 
were  drawn  up  behind  the  tents,  and  hidden  from  the  view 
of  Dara.  The  pretended  fugitives  issued  forth  in  a  large 
body ;  we  pursued  them,  and  fired  our  cannon  on  their  rear, 
but  it  was  only  blank  cartridge.  Dara  was  wholly  deceived. 
He  came  forth  himself  to  welcome  his  repentant  friends. 
They  bore  down  all  before  them,  and  took  possession  of 
his  camp.  We  followed,  and  the  fate  of  India  was  decided 
in  half  an  hour.  Dara  now  fled  with  his  family  into  the 
burning  deserts.  Every  one  deserted  him ;  his  own  soldiers 
plundered  and  robbed  him.  The  petty  nobles  hunted  him 
from  among  them.  At  length  he  was  betrayed  by  Sooja, 
whose  life  he  had  twice  saved,  but  who  now  received  an  im- 
mense bribe  from  Aureng  Zebe,  the  price  of  his  brother's 
blood. 

"  We  brought  him  to  Delhi ;  even  we,  when  we  saw  him 
meanly  dressed,  and  bound  in  chains,  pitied  the  eldest  son 
of  Shah  Jehan.  But  it  was  Fate — and  who  can  resist  ? 
He  was  carried  through  the  city,  which  he  had  so  often 
paraded  with  royal  pomp,  on  an  old  decrepit  elephant,  with 
tattered  housings ;  he  was  clothed  in  coarse  linen  ;  his  tur- 
ban was  ragged ;  his  hair  had  grown  gray  during  his  mis- 
fortunes. The  lowest  among  the  rabble  pitied  when  they 
saw  him ;  the  women  burst  into  tears.  Dara  retained  his  dig- 
nity, but  his  young  son  was  weeping  by  his  side.  He  was 
conducted  to  Chizarabad,  and  his  death  decreed.  In  the 
dead  of  the  night  Aureng  Zebe  despatched  the  assassins. 
They  rushed  into  the  cell  where  Dara  and  his  son  were 


176      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

prisoned.  They  tore  them  asunder  and  prepared  to  stran- 
gle him.  But  the  blood  of  the  descendant  of  Timour  arose 
against  this  infamous  death.  Dara  stabbed  one  of  the  vil- 
lains with  his  penknife.  They  immediately  fell  upon  him 
with  their  swords.  His  son,  though  in  chains,  rushed  into 
the  cell,  and  saw  them  in  the  act  of  beheading  his  father. 
The  assassins  left  him  with  the  decapitated  trunk,  and  car- 
ried the  bloody  memorial  to  Aureng  Zebe.  That  monarch 
had  been  in  dreary  expectation  all  the  night  for  their  re- 
turn. When  the  murderers  arrived,  they  were  immediately 
admitted  to  his  presence.  The  bloody  head  was  presented, 
but  the  features  could  not  be  recognized.  He  ordered  a 
charger  of  water  to  be  brought,  and  when  he  had  wiped 
away  the  clotted  gore  with  his  handkerchief,  he  saw  that  it 
was  indeed  his  brother's  head.  'Alas!  unfortunate  man,' 
he  exclaimed  ;  but  Aureng  Zebe  was  more  to  be  pitied  than 
his  victim.  For  a  few  short  years  of  grandeur  he  bartered 
his  everlasting  hopes  of  heaven.  Where  is  he  now  ?  And 
what  avails  his  villany  ? 

"I  saw  him  sit  upon  the  peacock  throne,  the  greatest 
wonder  of  art  that  man  has  ever  seen ;  before  which  the 
pageantry  of  Alexander,  Xerxes,  or  Cambyses  fade  into 
dirt.  The  ceiling  of  the  Dewann  Khan,  in  which  it  was 
set,  and  which  was  the  chamber  set  apart  for  royal  audience, 
was  incrusted  with  silver  foliage, massive,  rich,  and  shining; 
columns  of  white  marble,  adorned  with  inlaid  flower-work 
of  beautiful  stones,  supported  the  roof.  Around  the  cor- 
nice, in  Persian  letters  of  gold,  was  written,  '  If  there  be  a 
paradise  upon  earth,  this  is  it — 'tis  this,  'tis  this.'  The 
pillars  themselves  were  hung  with  tapestries  of  purified 
gold,  having  the  ground  of  gold,  and  for  the  roof  of  the 
hall  there  was  nothing  but  great  canopies  of  flowered  satin, 
fastened  with  red  silken  cords  that  had  big  tufts  of  silk, 
mixed  with  threads  of  gold,  hanging  on  them.  The  throne 
was  formed  of  solid  gold,  incrusted  over  with  diamonds, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     177 

rubies,  sapphires,  and  emeralds.  Two  peacocks  stood  upon 
it,  with  their  tales  expanded,  which  were  studded  with 
various  jewels  to  represent  the  life.  Between  tlie  peacocks 
stood  a  parrot,  of  the  ordinary  size,  cut  out  of  one  emerald. 
There  were  also  two  nosegays,  consisting  of  various  sorts 
of  flowers,  all  of  beaten  gold  enamelled.  The  twelve  columns 
that  upheld  the  canopy  were  set  round  by  rows  of  pearl ; 
and  at  each  side  of  the  throne  were  two  umbrellas,  the  han- 
dles of  which  were  eight  feet  high,  covered  with  diamonds ; 
the  umbrellas  themselves  were  of  crimson  velvet,  embroi- 
dered and  fringed  with  pearl.  And  I  saw  Aureng  Zebe 
sitting  on  this  throne,  splendidly  apparelled  in  white  satin, 
flowered  with  the  finest  gold.  His  turban  was  of  cloth  of 
gold,  having  a  bird  wrought  upon  it  like  a  heron,  whose 
feet  were  covered  with  diamonds  of  an  extraordinary  big- 
ness and  price,  with  a  great  Oriental  topaa  which  may  be 
said  to  be  matchless,  shining  like  a  little  sun.  A  collar  of 
large  pearls  hung  about  his  neck  to  his  stomach,  and  a 
transparent  jewel,  with  a  diamond  appendant  to  it,  as  large 
as  an  egg,  encompassed  with  rubies  and  emeralds,  was  so 
suspended  from  the  canopy  that  it  always  met  his  eye 
wheresoever  he  looked.  Around  him  were  his  Omrahs, 
glittering  with  jewels  innumerable,  offering  presents  of  fine 
golden  vessels  set  with  precious  stones,  or  basins  filled 
with  pearls,  diamonds,  emeralds,  or  rubies.  And  I  said 
unto  myself, '  Verily,  these  are  fine  hours  with  thee,  0  King ; 
but  behind  thy  majesty  and  magnificence  I  see  death  and 
dim  corruption ;  and  even  at  this  moment  before  thine  eye, 
in  place  of  yon  diamond,  it  is  thy  brother's  bloody  head 
thou  seest ;  and  in  thine  ear,  in  place  of  all  these  sounding 
flatteries,  it  is  thy  prisoned  father's  sighs  and  groans  that 
ring.  And  in  a  few  years  all  shall  pass  away,  and  thou 
shalt  be  carried  forth  a  stiff  corse,  and  in  the  hour  of  death 
thou  shalt  curse  the  energy  that  raised  thee  to  command, 
through  heaps  of  murdered  men,  and  over  heaps  of  broken 


178      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

oaths.  Then  shalt  thou  know  that  all  these  scenes  are  hol- 
low as  a  human  skull,  and  thou  shall  sup  full  on  sorrow  and 
despair.  Thou  shall  cast  thine  eye  backward,  and  it  shall 
be  met  with  blood ;  thou  shalt  cast  thine  eye  forward,  and 
thou  shalt  perceive  darkness  and  despair.  And  they  who 
now  surround  thee  would  not  give  a  moment  of  their  own 
days  to  protract  thine ;  albeit  they  now  profess  entire  sub- 
mission, and  are  ready  with  their  lives  to  prove  their  fealty 
to  thy  person.'  And  as  I  thought  these  things  a  mist  came 
over  my  eyes." 

Here  Akiba  was  again  silent ;  his  gaze  was  fixed  on  va- 
cancy ;  the  expression  of  his  features  was  rapt,  and  as  if 
inspired.  A  wild  _  gleam  glittered  in  his  eyes ;  he  seemed 
awed  and  daimon-moved. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  it  all.  This  gorgeous  glittering 
villany  hath  within  it  the  essence  of  its  own  ruin.  Yet  a 
few  years  more,  and  all  will  be  overwhelmed.  Thou  also, 
0  Delhi,  which  now  towerest  royally  over  the  plains,  shalt 
be  destroyed ;  and  the  peacock  throne  of  Shah  Jehan  shall 
be  broken  into  fragments.  The  gardens  of  Shalimar,  now 
splendid  with  their  cypress  avenues  and  sparkling  foun- 
tains, their  rose-bowers  thick  with  nightingales,  their  jewel- 
crusted  caves  that  shelter  from  the  heat,  their  cedars 
shielding  out  the  sun,  shall  be  a  waste  and  a  desert,  and 
their  owner  shall  recognize  them  no  longer.  Methinks  I 
stand  upon  the  lofty  summit  of  Mejnoon,  and  gaze  down- 
ward over  that  dazzling  city;  its  thousand  minarets  of 
marble,  its  thousand  cupolas  of  polished  metal,  mirrored  in 
the  shining  waters  of  the  Jumna,  and  by  the  grand  canal 
on  which  King  Feroze  squandered  millions.  I  see  the  gay 
procession  pass  of  princes  and  rajahs,  followed  by  corsleted 
and  bucklered  crowds  that  glow  in  polished  steel  and  gold, 
while  camels,  elephants,  and  horses  move  in  all  the  pride 
of  purple  housings  and  silver  knots.  But  a  cloud  arises, 
and  all  is  tempest — tempest,  lightning,  and  tfie  voice  of 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      179 

thunders.  The  stately  tower  of  Kootoob  is  wrapped  in 
night,  and  the  marble  resting  home  of  Huma3'oon  is 
gathered  in  the  thick  folds  of  many  mists.  Midnight 
wreathes  the  Jumna  Musjid  which  Aureng  Zebe  himself 
erected,  to  diffuse  through  Ind  and  Europe  his  sanctified 
renown ;  and  to  purge  himself  from  shiune  or  sin,  for  an 
aged  father  prisoned  in  his  palace,  and  a  gallant  brother 
butchered  like  a  wolf.  Within  it  kneels  the  king  himself, 
clothed  in  rags — his  purple  robes  are  laid  aside,  and  thus 
he  prays  to  heaven  for  forgiveness.  But  a  bolt  smites  him, 
and  he  is  no  more;  his  palace  passes,  his  family  is  de- 
stroyed ;  the  crown  obtained  with  so  much  treachery  and 
blood  is  transferred  into  another's  hand ;  and  all  that  re- 
mains of  Aureng  Zebe  is  the  memory  of  his  crimes,  and 
the  lesson  of  his  retribution ;  the  folly  of  the  guilty,  and 
the  unerring  justice  of  the  Supreme. 

"The  fate  and  fall  of  Dara  worked  a  wonderful  change 
in  my  temper.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Tliis  life  suits  me  not.' 
Years  began  to  exercise  their  humanizing  effect  on  me.  I 
left  the  ranks  when  I  was  not  yet  thirty  years  old,  and 
became  a  pilgrim.  I  visited  all  the  sacred  shrines  of  India ; 
I  cared  not  whether  they  were  dedicated  to  Brahm,  to  Alia, 
or  to  Hormuzd — so  long  as  they  were  consecrated  to  God, 
I  paid  them  veneration.  Soumanth  and  Benares,  Sri  Saila 
and  Maha  Kala,  Om-Kara  and  Tryambaka,  had  equal 
claims  for  me ;  and  I  became  gradually  initiated  into  sacred 
lore,  learning  equally  from  Buddhist  and  from  Brahmin, 
the  most  recondite  mysteries  of  their  respective  creeds. 
At  length,  having  traversed  India,  I  penetrated  China,  and 
made  the  pilgrimage  of  that  most  wonderful  land,  seeing 
all  that  could  be  seen,  and  learning  the  theology  of  that 
most  ancient  people,  who  are  the  lineal  descendants  of  Xuh, 
whom  Europeans  call  Noah,  and  the  Chinese  call  Fohi,  the 
former  name  being  unpronounceable  in  their  language. 
From  China  I  passed  into  Russia,  and  so  into  European 


180     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Turkey,  from  which  I  descended  into  Italy  and  Spain,  and, 
traversing  France,  crossed  the  sea  and  joined  myself  to  the 
gypsies,  whom  I  found  to  be  of  our  people — the  same  in 
blood,  in  language,  and  in  affinity — and  with  them  I  mean 
to  pass  the  brief  remnant  of  my  days.  I  have  given  orders 
for  my  body  to  be  laid  in  Stonehenge,  that  Cyclopean 
monument  of  the  Cuthite  priests  of  India ;  and  there  shall 
it  repose  until  the  world  is  renewed,  and  all  things  are 
restored  to  their  primal  condition.  The  summary  of  my 
life  may  be  comprised  in  one  sentence :  Mankind  is  every- 
where the  same,  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil.  God  is  every- 
where the  same;  the  rewarder  of  the  virtuous,  and  the 
punisher  of  the  wicked.  Truth  is  everywhere  the  same ; 
one  and  unmixed,  and  wholly  different  from  the  popular 
belief.  Life  is  everywhere  the  same ;  a  toilsome  pilgrimage 
which  conducts  to  heaven  or  hell,  according  to  the  way  in 
which  it  is  passed." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Fair  and  beautiful  art  thou,  O,  Morning  Star  I  Thou 
gleamest  high  in  the  blue  heaven ;  the  purple  waves  awaken 
into  light,  and  watch  thy  golden  brightness  on  their  crests. 
I  sit  within  my  moveless  gondola,  and  gaze  aloft ;  I  think 
me  of  the  olden  days  when  she  also  shone ;  when  she,  who 
was  fairer  to  my  soul  than  all  the  host  of  heaven,  lived  and 
beamed,  and  shed  her  lustre  on  my  heart.  0,  days !  O, 
long  lost  days !  never  once  to  be  forgotten — limned  in 
splendor,  yet  in  darkness  and  in  grief  upon  my  spirit,  to 
perish  only  when  that  spirit  perishes,  if  die  it  ever  should. 
How  shall  I  recall  ye  ?  How  shall  I  endure  to  live  again 
in  the  blank  past,  and  awaken  memories  that  should  repose 
for  aye  ?     How  shall  I  retrace  the  bitter  woe,  the  agony  of 


EDWARD  WOETLBY  MONTAOU.     181 

recollection,  the  frenzy  of  my  love,  despair  and  madness; 
and  3'et  survive  to  pen  them  dowm  on  paper,  and  calmly 
read  them  in  my  solitude  ?  Yet  must  the  effort  be  made — 
a  pang,  and  resolution  comes ;  the  iron-cased  and  conquer- 
mg  resolution  that  never  yet  forsook  me  in  my  need ;  and 
my  hand  and  heart  are  nerved  alike,  and  cold  and  fii*m  as 
steel.  0,  star  of  beauty,  shine  upon  me  with  propitious 
light !  For  well  I  know  that  in  thy  luminous  sphere  she 
now  abides  and  looks  upon  the  lone  recluse,  the  weary 
wanderer — the  Ishmael  of  men,  whom  once  she  loved.  And 
often  in  the  dawn  she  visits  me  in  dream — visits  me,  and 
fills  me  with  the  music  of  the  spheres.  She  comes  to  me 
from  thee ;  she  descends  from  thy  silver  orb ;  she  presses 
my  lips  and  whispers  hope  into  my  heart.  She  says,  "  I 
am  not  dead ;  I  am  but  gone  before.  In  the  Morning  Star 
we  yet  shall  meet,  and  in  our  union,  think  not  of  the  melan- 
choly earth." 

Thou  art  gone,  mine  own ;  thou  art  lost  to  me  indeed. 
For  a  brief  space  only  didst  thou  gild  my  darkness.  We 
heard  the  songs  of  Paradise;  we  heard  them  but  for  a 
moment,  and  all  was  chaos.  Yet,  oh  how  vividly  that 
moment  lives  within,  around,  and  through  me.  Other 
wandering  lights  have  flitted  on  my  path — other  false  fire« 
have  dazzled  and  misled  the  pilgrim  of  misfortune.  But 
never  once  wert  thou  erased  from  my  soul ;  never  once 
was  thy  celestial  image  hurled  from  the  altar  on  which,  as 
in  some  sacred  temple,  thou  wert  all  enshrined.  0,  Fran- 
cesca,  angel  of  my  life,  this  at  least  is  true,  that  never  once 
wert  thou  forgotten.  In  the  burning  conflict,  when  foe 
clashed  with  foe,  in  the  tumult  of  the  tempest,  in  the  tur- 
moil of  ambition,  in  the  corrupt  war  of  courts  and  senates, 
in  the  whirlpool  of  fashionable  madness,  in  the  far  and 
silent  wilderness,  in  the  thought-uplifting  mountains  of 
the  Orient,  and  on  the  whirling  billows  of  the  ocean,  still, 
Btill  was  I  thine  own ;  and  when  the  last  moment  of  my 
12 


182     EDWARD  WORTLKT  MONTAaU. 

life  draws  near,  and  the  death  pang  quivers  through  my 
frame,  and  my  heart  throbs  again  faintly  in  the  mortal 
agony,  still,  still,  shall  one  image  beam  before  me,  con- 
joined with  that  of  God ;  and  that  image  shall  be  thine. 
Do  I  rave,  or  do  I  see  thee  now  ?  The  Morning  Star  opens 
her  golden  gates ;  she  sends  thee  forth  a  beautiful  winged 
spirit ;  thou  glidest  downwards  over  the  silver  tracks,  over 
the  blue  waters.  I  see  thee,  and  now  thou  art  beside  me. 
An  ethereal  light  overshadows  me.  I  feel  thy  presence ; 
my  heart  is  in  an  ecstacy.  It  is  thou — it  is  thou,  my  Fran- 
cesca,  who  art  come  again,  who  art  come  again  to  cheer  me 
in  my  desolation ;  to  whisper  happiness,  and  breathe  en- 
durance and  content. 

Yes,  she  was  indeed  most  beautiful !  The  pencil  of 
Raffaele — I  have  seen  its  masterpieces — but  none  was  fair 
as  she.  The  forms  of  Titian  and  Giorgione,  the  bright 
creations  of  Rubens  and  Lely,  the  life-like  women  of  Van- 
dyke, ah !  they  please,  indeed,  the  passing  eye ;  but  to  me 
they  typify  a  loveliness  far  inferior  to  that  of  Francesca. 
She  was  but  thirteen  when  first  I  sought  protection  among 
the  Gitanos.  I  saw  her  not  for  upwards  of  a  year  after. 
She  was  secluded  from  all  vulgar  observation ;  the  sun  was 
not  permitted  to  shine  upon  her.  Some  strange,  dark 
mystery  seemed  to  hang  around  her  very  tent.  My  friend 
and  tutor  knew  nothing  of  her ;  the  old  Queen  of  the  En- 
campment was  silent  as  the  grave  on  all  that  appertained 
to  the  lone  recluse.  She  was  guarded  like  the  apple  of  the 
eye.  Accident  alone  revealed  her  to  me,  and  it  happened 
in  this  way. 

We  were  encamped  on  Salisbury  Plain.  The  night  was 
fair  and  beautiful,  ten  thousand  glittering  stars  shone  in 
the  broad  heaven ;  shone  above  those  sacred  ruins  of  our 
grand  ancestors,  who  brought  the  true  and  holy  faith  of 
God  into  England,  and  reared  those  solemn  arches  to  His 
honor.    I  wandered  away  at  some  distance  from  the  tent 


XDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      183 

— ftlone  "with  my  thoughts ;  alone  and  far  removed  from 
the  homely  sights  that  ever  appertain  to  mere  prosaic  life. 
I  lifted  up  my  heart  to  the  Stars.  I  singled  out  the  golden 
beaming  Jupiter,  and  thought  my  fate  identified  with  him 
— bright,  when  he  was  glorious ;  dark  when  he  was  dimmed. 
The  distant  bark  of  the  watch-dog  alone  reminded  me  that 
I  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  life.  I  wandered  farther  and 
farther  until  even  this  was  but  faintly  echoed.  Then  did  I 
give  myself  wholly  up  to  reverie.  My  musings  probably 
were  not  highly  philosophic  or  profound ;  what  musings  of 
a  boy  ever  were  so  ?  but  I  can  now  feel  that  they  were 
sublime  and  pure ;  that  they  were  wholly  disconnected  with 
earth,  and  all  the  base  and  wretched  properties  of  that  the- 
atrical and  tinsel  puppet  show  which  we  call  existence.  At 
length  I  retraced  my  steps,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
place  of  encampment,  when  I  beheld  a  tall  figure  gliding 
noiselessly  about  the  great  pillars,  like  the  spectre  of  some 
ancient  priest  of  Boodh,  or  Brahm — for  are  not  both  the 
names  of  the  One  God  ?  I  was  myself  at  the  moment  in 
such  a  position  that  I  must  have  been  invisible ;  but  the 
form  of  the  stranger  stood  out  distinctly  against  the  gleam- 
ing purple.  A  wanderer  or  a  watcher  at  that  late  hour  was 
a  mystery,  perhaps  a  danger  in  disguise.  He  presented  all 
the  tokens  of  a  spy,  and  it  became  my  duty  to  observe  him. 
I  stole  with  panther-like  tread  through  the  prostrate  ruins ; 
I  glided  like  a  serpent  to  the  very  monolith  beside  which 
the  stranger  stood,  and  yet  he  knew  not  that  I  was  near. 
He  seemed  gazing  with  the  most  fixed  earnestness  in  the  di- 
rection of  our  tents ;  all  the  energies  and  faculties  of  his 
mind  seemed  concentrated  into  his  eyes.  As  a  sentinel  on 
the  eve  of  some  long-expected  battle,  when  all  before  him 
is  wrapped  in  darkness,  and  even  the  bivouac  fires  smoul- 
der in  the  gloom,  peers  into  the  obscure  to  catch  the  least 
glimpse  of  an  advancing  foe,  for  well  he  knows  his  life  de- 
pends upon  his  vigilance — even  so  was  the  anxious  gaze  of 


184     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

tliis  man  upon  the  far-off  tents  of  my  companions.  He 
seemed  fixed  to  the  spot,  and  thus  he  stood  motionless  for 
half  an  hour.  At  length  I  heard  a  light  and  cautious  foot- 
step, then  a  low  and  quick  whistle,  and  one  emerged  sud- 
denly, though  from  what  quarter  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  see ;  nor  could  I  at  first  distinguish  whether  it  was  a 
man  or  woman.  But  all  doubt  was  soon  dispelled.  It  was 
a  man,  and  one  of  the  Gitanos.  He  was  called  Antonio. 
He  came  up  right  to  the  very  side  of  the  watcher,  and  I 
could  see  him  plainly  by  the  starlight.  Nay,  I  think  my 
boding  heart  had  divined  who  he  was,  even  before  it  be- 
held him  so  near  to  me.  I  crouched  closer  beneath  the 
shade  and  ruin,  and  felt  certain  that  no  one  but  with  lion 
eyes  would  be  able  to  detect  me  in  the  gloom.  Luckily  I 
was  right.  Both  were  probably  too  much  wrapped  up  in 
their  own  thoughts  to  notice  any  thing  around  them.  Their 
faculties  were  concentrated  only  on  one  point,  and  in  this 
I  felt  was  my  chief  security.  For  this  Antonio  was  no  or- 
dinary man.  He  was  no  unobservant  drudge.  He  was 
short  and  thick,  low  in  the  forehead,  like  Fox ;  large  in  the 
back  of  his  head,  like  Bute  ;  his  dark  eyes  peered  out  from 
underneath  hanging  brows,  like  ferret's  out  of  a  cage; 
they  were  restless  and  ever  changing,  as  you  must  have 
seen  a  rat's  eyes  are.  I  have  seen  plentj'-  of  such  fellows 
in  Westminster  Hall.  Wherever  you  turned  he  seemed  to 
be  watching  you.  There  was  an  ever-moving,  glittering  ex- 
pression about  them.  They  seemed  as  volatile  as  quicksil- 
ver. You  never  could  fix  or  catch  them  in  the  same  position 
for  more  than  an  instant.  They  gave  you  a  most  unpleas- 
ant feeling.  I  had  always  disliked  this  fellow.  Believing 
faithfully  in  the  Indian  doctrine  of  metempsychosis,  I  was 
convinced  that  his  next  phase  of  being  would  be  that  of  a 
rat,  or  some  such  hideous  creature,  and  I  kept  out  of  his 
path  as  carefully  as  I  could. 

This  vagabond  now  accosted  the  watcher. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU.      185 

"  Have  I  kept  your  lordship  waiting  ?"  he  said.  "  I  fear 
that  I  have,  but  I  made  all  the  haste  I  could.  I  half  sus- 
pect that  I  am  watched  1" 

"  Pooh  1"  answered  the  other, "  that  is  impossible.  What 
news  ?" 

"  She  would  have  been  out  to-night  as  usual,  my  lord,  but 
her  attendant  was  unwell,  so  she  stayed  within  to  nurse 
her." 

"  And  how  long  will  this  illness  last  ?" 

"  Oh  1  no  time — she  will  doubtless  take  her  accustomed 
walk  to-morrow  night.    Let  your  lordship  then  be  ready." 

"  At  what  hour  ?" 

"  Nine." 

"  'Tis  well,  till  then — ^take  this  I"  and  he  flung  him  a 
purse,  and  turned  away.  The  gipsy  stole  towards  our 
watch-fires.  I  waited  until  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  then 
taking  a  circuitous  route,  I  ran  as  if  I  were  winged  and 
got  to  the  encampment  before  him.  When  he  arrived  there, 
I  was  quietly  seated  in  front  of  my  own  tent  with  Manasam. 
Antonio  passed  and  wished  us  good  night.  We  returned 
it,  and  he  went  on.  As  he  disappeared  I  heard  a  death- 
shot  ringing  in  my  ears ;  I  saw  a  conflict,  and  it  was  for  life 
or  death ;  a  mortal  struggle,  a  weeping  female,  a  flnely- 
dressed  man — and  then  I  heard  the  whizzing  bullet  and  the 
last  scream  of  guilty  horror.  A  red  film  of  gore  seemed  to 
pass  before  my  eyes,  and  all  was  bright  and  clear  again. 
Satanas  had  got  another  subject. 

«  Well,"  I  uttered,  "  so  be  it." 

When  I  turned  to  my  companion  I  was  startled  to  see 
his  fixed  gaze  upon  me.  He  seemed  stricken  with  a  strange 
awe ;  his  eyes  penetrated  my  heart  and  spirit. 

"  Zala-Mayna,"  said  he,  "  Zala-Mayna — what  means  this  ? 
Are  you  mad  or  dreaming?" 

"How  now,"  I  answered,  "what's  the  matter?  who 
fired?" 


186  BDWARD    WORTLBY    MONTAGTT. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  he,  "  you  have  fatigued  yourself 
with  this  wild  ramble,  go  to  bed — go  to  bed." 

"  Who  fired  ?"  said  I,  "  who  is  shot  ?" 

" No  one  that  I  know  of,"  he  answered,  "but  speak." 

I  then  recounted  to  him  in  a  low  whisper  what  I  had 
witnessed  and  heard  beside  the  giant  pillar  of  the  plain,  and 
told  him  also  what  had  just  passed  before  my  eyes.  He 
was  silent  for  a  time.     He  then  said — 

"  Come,  let  us  go  into  our  tent." 

When  we  got  there,  and  had  interchanged  thought  for 
half  an  hour,  we  concerted  measures  for  the  following  night 
These  were  soon  arranged.  I  flung  mj'^self  on  my  bed,  and 
slept.  And  I  had  a  dream,  and  my  dream  was  beautiful. 
For  the  Morning  Star  descended  from  his  throne  in  heaven 
and  came  into  my  presence  glorious,  like  a  youth  of  God, 
and  kissed  my  lips,  and  left  celestial  fire  upon  them,  and 
then  departed  with  a  smile,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Be 
prosperous,  0  Son  of  Fate  1"  And  when  I  woke,  the  early 
sun  shone  full  upon  me,  and  the  larks  made  sweet  melody, 
and  I  felt  secure  and  strong. 

:«:  :tc  :((  4c  4(  3|c 

"  Were  they  indeed  gods  who  built  Stonehenge,  nurse  ?" 

"  Aye,  little  one,  the  gods  of  India,  from  whom  we  are 
descended,  and  who  guard  us  still." 

"  Why  did  not  the  guards  preserve  their  beautiful  temple 
until  now  ?  Methinks  that  having  brought  these  huge 
stones  so  far  from  heaven  they  might  have  kept  them  ever 
in  perfection." 

"  Ah !  little  one,  these  are  questions  that  no  mortal  oan 
solve." 

"  Shall  we  ever  see  those  glorious,  mighty  gods  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  let  us  hope  so,  and  that  soon." 

"  Are  they  as  beautiful  as  you  said  ?" 

"  Beautiful  I  they  are  more  beautiful  than  the  sun.  Each 
one  is  twelve  feet  high,  splendid  as  light,  and  pure  as  dia- 


BDWABD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     187 

mond.   Their  wings  are  silver — white  as  moonbeams.   Their 
diadems  are  living  fire ;  their  words  are  like  sweet  harps." 

"  Oh,  how  I  long  to  see  these  splendid  gods.  Will  you 
not  take  me  soon  to  their  country  ?  It  is  India — is  India 
far  away  ?" 

"  Many  a  day's  sail  and  many  a  night's  journey  is  India ; 
but  when  we  get  there  we  shall  see  the  gods." 

There  was  a  shrill  whistle,  at  which  the  young  damsel 
and  her  nurse  startled.  We  crouched  closer  beneath  our 
column.  All  around  was  clear  moonlight,  but  we  were  in 
shadow-  Two  figures  suddenly  rushed  upon  them — ^they 
were  Antonio  and  the  man  he  called  "  my  lord." 

"  You  must  come  with  us,"  said  the  latter.  And  he  laid 
hold  of  the  young  girL  In  doing  so,  her  face  became  re- 
vealed in  the  moonlight ;  her  hood  had  fallen  off.  It  was 
the  face  of  an  angel.  All  heaven  seemed  open  in  that 
innocent  countenance.  The  e^'es  were  soft,  darkly  blue; 
the  hair  was  golden  and  lustrous,  like  the  Ev^ening  Star 
reflected  on  a  lake ;  the  skin  was  whiter  than  Italian  mar- 
ble. No  sculptor  ever  carved  a  form  so  transcendent ;  no 
painter  ever  drew  one.  I  could  have  fallen  before  her  on 
my  knees  as  if  she  were  the  Holy  Spirit. 

She  did  not  scream,  but  stood  as  if  surprised.  She 
seemed  puzzled  to  know  what  this  man  could  want  with 
her.     She  merely  said — 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  1  I  must  go  home ;  it  is  now  time.  This  ia 
my  nurse ;  yonder  are  our  tents." 

"  You  must  come  with  me,"  said  my  lord ;  and  he  began 
to  pull  her  away.  But  now  the  nurse  interposed.  She  de- 
manded fiercely  what  they  wanted.  My  lord  made  no  reply. 
Antonio,  who  was  masked,  swore  at  her,  and  told  her  to  be 
still. 

"  Ah!"  said  she,  "  I  know  your  voice."  And  she  tore  oflf 
his  mask.  She  had  scarcely  done  so  when  he  stabbed  her. 
She  felL 


EDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

"  Now,  my  lord,"  said  he, "  lose  no  time."  And  he  caught 
the  little  maid  and  began  to  gag  her.  But  scarcely  had  he 
l«id  hig  rude  hand  upon  her  when  he  fell  dead ;  a  shot  from 
my  pistol  had  done  the  work.  My  last  night's  vision  was 
fulfilled.  My  lord  trembled;  he  looked  round,  but  saw  no 
one.  Dropping  the  child's  hand,  he  fled  with  the  rapidity 
of  guilt.  Manasam  pursued  him.  I  went  up  to  the  girl. 
She  was  firm,  but  pale  as  death,  I  accosted  her  in  softest 
words,  but  she  seemed  to  hear  me  or  heed  me  not.  She 
said, "  Nurse,  nurse,  where  are  you  ?    Come,  let  us  go  home." 

A  faint  voice  answered,  "The  villain  has  stabbed  me. 
Help,  or  I  shall  die." 

I  tore  off  my  coat,  I  bound  up  her  wound,  I  tended  her, 
and  gave  her  a  restorative  from  a  flask.  This  revived  her, 
and  after  some  delay  she  stood  up,  but  her  tread  was  feeble 
in  the  extreme.  "  Good  mother,"  said  I,  "  lean  on  me." 
And  I  helped  her  forward.  The  damsel  said  not  a  word, 
but  clung  to  her  in  speechless  silence.  We  went  slowly 
homeward.  Before  we  got  there  Manasam  overtook  us. 
**  He  has  escaped,"  he  said. 

I  was  summoned  next  day  to  the  nurse's  tent,  and  went 
with  Manasam.  She  was  evidently  dying;  the  seal  of 
death  was  on  her  pale  features.  When  we  entered,  a  faint 
smile  of  gratitude  or  welcome  stole  over  her  countenance, 
but  it  soon  passed  away.  She  motioned  to  us  to  sit  down, 
and  we  did  so. 

"  Zala-Mayna,"  said  she,  "  I  have  sent  for  you ;  I  have 
much  to  say,  and  my  time  is  short.  She  whom  you  have 
saved  is  yours  by  right ;  from  this  day  forth  she  is  3'our 
betrothed.  You  have  given  her  her  life ;  that  life  should 
be  henceforth  given  unto  you.  And  it  will  be  so.  I  have 
already  spoken  unto  her,  and  she  says  it  is  but  just.  Will 
you  pledge  yourself  to  the  dying  woman  to  receive,  to  cher- 
ish, to  defend  her  against  all  ?" 

I  willingly  promised.     It  was  like  the  realization  of  a 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     189 

wild  celestial  dream.  Manasam  witnessed  it.  The  dying 
woman  seemed  content.    "  Now,"  said  she,  "  let  me  tell  all." 

"  The  man  from  whom  I  have  got  my  death-blow  was  my 
second  husband.  His  name  is  Antonio ;  let  him  be  seized 
and  brought  to  justice." 

I  told  her  he  was  dead.  She  expressed  no  surprise. 
"Ah,"  said  she,  "that  is  right;  he  has  got  his  reward;  I 
shall  die  content." 

"  My  first  husband,"  she  continued,  "  was  equally  wicked. 
He  stole  this  beautiful  one  while  she  was  yet  an  infant. 
She  was  the  sole  heiress  to  a  great  estate.  Her  father  and 
mother  doted  on  her.  The  child  of  their  old  age,  when 
there  was  no  further  hope  of  male  offspring  to  supplant  her 
in  her  fortune,  she  became  the  very  light  of  their  e3'es. 
They  worshipped  her,  and  Devee  stepped  in  to  punish  them. 
The  father  had  a  younger  brother — ^the  man  whom  you  saw 
last  night.  He  is  now  a  great  lord,  and  holds  Francesca's 
rightful  estate ;  but  justice  shall  be  done,  and  she  shall  put 
the  false  usurper  out.  He  came  to  our  tents  some  nine  or 
ten  years  since.  My  husband  and  he  had  some  former 
dealings  together,  and  he  sought  him  out  and  found  him. 
For  an  immense  bribe — immense  I  mean  to  my  husband, 
but  to  this  fellow  it  was  as  nothing — he  employed  him  to 
steal  this  infant,  the  sole  obstacle  between  himself,  a  peer- 
age, and  ten  thousand  acres.  My  husband  did  so.  He 
brought  her  to  me.  We  were  then  childless.  '  See,'  said 
he,  '  what  a  pretty  babe  I  have  found  for  you  ;  she  lay  on 
the  roadside;  she  was  deserted;  she  had  no  father,  no 
mother.  The  gods  have  sent  her  to  us,  as  we  have  none 
ourselves.'  I  believed  him.  I  brought  her  up.  You  have 
seen  her.  Does  she  cast  discredit  on  me  ?  Your  eyes  say 
no.  Well,  you  could  not  say  otherwise  with  truth.  When 
she  was  twelve  years  old,  my  husband  fell  sick;  he  was 
dying,  he  was  afraid.  He  said  that  he  had  had  a  dreadful 
dream ;  that  he  could  not  die  until  he  told  all ;  and  then, 


190     EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU. 

for  the  first  time,  he  confessed  the  truth — and  what  a  truth 
it  was !  The  father  and  mother  had  searched  the  whole 
country  for  their  child,  but  could  get  no  tidings  of  her. 
The  mother  died  broken-hearted  in  six  months.  The  father 
lingered  yet  a  little  longer,  but  he  soon  followed  her  to  the 
grave.  The  brother  became  my  lord ;  he  jumped  into  the 
estate,  and  keeps  it  still.  My  husband  said,  '  Nana,  I  can- 
not die  until  you  swear  to  me  to  restore  her  to  her  rights. 
I  cannot  rest  in  my  grave  as  long  as  she  is  defrauded.  Go 
at  once  to  the  uncle,  proclaim  the  robbery,  restore  her  to 
her  own,  and  my  spirit  will  rest ;  now  it  is  on  fire.'  I  made 
the  promise  he  demanded.  He  seemed  more  easy,  but  in 
an  hour  he  died  in  dreadful  agony.  Never  shall  I  forget 
his  cries,  his  imprecations,  his  convulsive  madness.  Well, 
he  is  no  more." 

Here  she  stopped.  She  was  growing  fainter  and  fainter. 
The  thick  damps  of  death  stood  in  large  drops  upon  her 
face.     After  a  time  she  recommenced. 

"  Antonio  became  my  second  husband.  I  told  him  all. 
Could  I  do  otherwise  ?  We  were  then  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  country.  We  came  here  about  a  year  ago,  and  kept 
her  close.  He  went  to  my  lord  and  demanded  a  great 
sum  to  hide  his  infamy  from  the  world.  My  lord  refused. 
He  then  threatened  an  exposure.  Several  interviews  passed, 
but  little  of  their  plans  he  told  to  me.  Doubtless  they  at 
length  agreed,  and  last  night's  treachery  disclosed  their 
compact.  My  lord  had  always  said  he  would  pay  no  more 
money  because  he  could  not  trust  him.  '  Give  me  up  the 
girl,'  he  said,  'and  name  your  own  reward;  she  shall  be 
safe,  but  in  a  foreign  land;  without  this  you  shall  have 
nothing.'  Antonio  proposed  it  to  me,  but  I  refused.  It 
was  in  the  night.  My  husband's  ghost  stood  before  me. 
He  was  covered  in  blood ;  he  was  wrapped  in  fire.  He 
wept,  he  screamed,  he  cursed  at  me.  He  gave  me  no  rest 
night  or  day.    I  refused  to  come  in  to  Antonio's  plans.     I 


BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     191 

said  if  you  restore  her  not  I  will  call  the  whole  tribe  to- 
gether ;  I  will  expose  you,  I  will  expose  the  dead,  but  she 
shall  have  her  rights.  He  pretended  to  agree  with  all  I 
said,  but  now  I  know  that  it  was  a  snare.  He  acted  but  to 
lull  me.  He  knew  that  we  walked  out  at  night;  he  pre- 
pared this  plot,  doubtless,  for  an  immense  price,  but  he 
was  deceived.  He  betrayed  himself — he  fell  into  his  own 
pit.  Well,  it  is  right  and  just ;  but  I  also  am  punished  for 
my  weakness.  I  also  suffer  this  because  I  reinstated  her 
not  myself,  but  intrusted  that  sacred  duty  to  a  knave.  Ha  I 
what  see  I  ?  It  is  my  husband's  phantom.  He  comes  to 
drag  me  with  him  into  ruin.  Now,  he  approaches — keep 
him  away,  keep  him  away — 0  God !  O  good  friends,  keep 
him  away.  Ah !  he  is  upon  me.  He  will  not  be  removed. 
He  will  not  pardon.  He  will  not  forgive  me  for  my  broken 
oath.  Yet  I  was  not  wholly  guilty;  all  my  intentions 
were  good.  0  friends,  save  me — save  me  from  this  appal- 
ling vision.  He  seizes  me  by  the  throat — he  chokes — he 
strangles — he  slays  me.     Oh !" 

She  died  in  agony.  We  were  affrighted  with  a  wild 
horror.  Alas !  she  took  the  secret  of  Francesca's  birth 
with  her.     It  was  lost  forever. 

We  buried  both  next  day  in  the  same  grave;  the  de- 
ceived wife,  the  treacherous  husband.  We  piled  a  small 
mound  of  stones  over  them,  and  left  the  place  of  blood. 
No  one  inquired  how  Antonio  perished;  but  Manasam 
called  the  tribe  together.  He  recounted  all,  even  from  the 
beginning.  We  were  betrothed  the  same  day ;  I  and  Fran- 
cesca.  No  one  lifted  up  a  murmur  for  the  death  of  this 
accursed  scoundrel;  every  heart  felt,  confessed,  and  knew 
that  it  was  his  fate — his  merited  fate. 

Among  the  Gitanos,  when  a  couple  are  betrothed,  they 
wander  not  together  alone.  This  were  infamy — for  their 
women  must  not  even  be  suspected.  They  are  all  chaste. 
The  highest-born  princess  of  Europe  is  not  so  modest  in 


192  EDWARD    WORTLEYMONTAQU. 

every  thought  and  word  as  the  poor  Gitana  who  sleeps 
under  the  tent,  with  only  the  bright  stars  to  be  her  sen- 
tinels. But  the  Queen  gipsy  took  compassion  on  our 
youth.  Francesca,  too,  was  not  a  Gitana,  and  I  was  sent 
of  the  Eagle.  She  said,  "These  must  not  abide  in  all 
things  by  our  laws.  Let  them  be  together  ;  let  them  pass 
the  next  year  in  sweet  communion,  side  by  side.  He  will 
not  harm  her.  I  know  it  by  his  eyes.  Even  if  he  tried, 
the  Gods  of  Brightness  would  defend  her.  Let  it  be;" 
and  so  it  was.  We  walked  thenceforth  together ;  we  went 
wherever  we  pleased.  The  Gipsy-queen  received  her  into 
her  tent,  and  in  a  year  our  nuptials  were  to  take  place. 


CHAPTER    XY. 

What  a  year  was  that !  Nature  herself  seemed  all  pro- 
pitious. Never  shone  the  sun  more  beautifully  over  the 
earth ;  never  bloomed  the  flowers  and  the  trees  with  more 
vernant  brightness ;  never  gleamed  the  stars  with  lustre 
more  divine.  Ye  fair  and  pastoral  hills,  how  sacred  ye 
are!  ye  are  dedicated  to  an  everlasting  holiness  in  my 
heart.  We  strayed  over  the^j  smooth  undulations,  and 
gazed  upon  the  distant  ocean,  blue  and  sparkling,  like  the 
seas  in  heaven ;  we  descended  to  the  dappled  beach,  white 
with  manj'^  a  shell,  and,  hand  in  hand,  wandered  by  its  re- 
sounding margin ;  now  watching  the  great  waves  as  they 
rolled  and  boomed,  and  broke  in  glittering  fragments  upon 
the  beach ;  now  gazing  upon  the  transparent  fall  of  emerald 
which  they  mimicked  when  the  evening  sun  shone  thi-ough 
their  curling  depths ;  now  hearkening  to  their  wild  chorus 
when  they  hoarsely  broke  upon  the  strand;  and  now 
charmed  with  the  soft  and  fairy-like  whisper  with  which 


EDWAED     YTORTLEY     MONTAGU.  193 

they  glided  over  the  soft  sand,  and  melted  away  within  its 
bosom,  as  if  too  gentle  to  do  ought  but  touch  it  with  their 
slightest  kiss.  We  looked  upon  the  West,  and  saw  the 
Golden  Palaces  of  the  Sun ;  we  lingered  until  the  Evening 
Star  arose,  and  roved  in  fancy  amid  the  lakes,  the  gardens, 
the  deeply  purple  glens,  and  castellated  halls  that  seemed 
to  live  and  glitter  in  the  sky,  and  offer  us  a  home  of  peace 
within  that  far-off  Paradise. 

Francesca,  though  now  fifteen,  was  a  perfect  child.  The 
calm  seclusion  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up  had  made 
her  wholly  ignorant  of  the  world  or  its  ways.  She  was  so 
fair  that  to  her  nurse  it  seemed  a  profanation  to  dye  that 
lily  skin ;  she  was  so  gentle  and  so  pure  that  she  had  not 
the  heart  to  expose  her  to  the  rude  gaze  even  of  her  own 
people.  She  guarded .  her  as  they  guard  the  sacred  Caaba 
in  tlie  fane  of  Mecca.  No  profane  eye  had  ever  shed  its  evil 
light  upon  her  loveliness.  The  gypsy  who  had  stolen  her 
had  alwa3's  impressed  upon  his  wife  the  necessity  of  keep- 
ing her  away  from  view.  When  he  was  dying,  and  the 
terrible  secret  of  his  heart  was  at  length  revealed,  solitude 
had  become  so  much  her  habit,  that  she  and  her  nurse  con- 
tinued it  from  choice.  The  Queen  of  the  Encampment  was 
the  only  person  to  whom  the  latter  disclosed  the  circum- 
stances under  which  she  had  become  possessed  of  her  ;  and 
it  was  principally  under  the  guidance  of  the  Queen  that  the 
nurse  had  urged  Antonio  to  seek  the  usurping  lord,  and 
extort  from  his  fears,  if  not  from  his  justice,  the  tardy 
recognition  of  Francesco's  rights.  How  both  were  disap- 
pointed has  been  seen. 

Thus  brought  up  in  solitude  and  silence,  seldom  coming 
forth  into  the  world,  except  when  the  moon  and  stars  were 
in  their  glory,  and  wholly  kept  apart  from  aught  that 
could  stain  her  pure  mind,  her  character  was  in  a  great 
measure  wholly  different  from  that  of  other  females,  and 
she  seemed  to  be  the  denizen  of  a  diffei-ent  sphere.     When 


194     BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU. 

I  first  knew  her,  she  could  neither  read  nor  write;  her 
mind  was  that  of  a  young  mountaineer ;  a  crystal  tablet  all 
unmarked,  but  yet  as  beautiful  as  a  seraph's  soul.  In  a 
little  time  she  learned  both  accomplishments,  and  when 
I  opened  to  her  this  world  of  wonders,  sweet  and  boundless 
was  her  gratitude.  This  task  was  exquisitely  delightful ; 
her  innocent  surprise  at  all  she  heard  was  the  most  raptur- 
ous reward  I  could  have  received.  I  told  her  all  the  faery 
lore  I  knew  myself;  of  the  little  hill  men  who  dwell  in 
topaz  palaces  beneath  the  earth,  and  the  nymphs  that  fill 
the  shell  and  coral  caves  of  ocean ;  of  the  elves  and  water- 
necks,  the  trolls  and  dwarfs ;  the  fair  invisible  existences 
that  connect  the  race  of  mortals  with  the  angelic  choir 
above  them,  and  the  glorious  Essences  that  dwell  in  light. 
From  these  I  lifted  up  her  mind  to  the  celestial  tenants  of 
the  stars,  and  taught  her  how  in  ancient  ages  they  stood 
before  the  Throne  of  God,  each  a  sun  in  brightness  and  mag- 
nificence, until  the  schism  rose  which  first  divided  the  sons 
of  Heaven,  and  separated  Light  from  Darkness. 

I  told  her  of  the  soul  and  its  immortal  splendor,  its 
heavenly  origin,  and  final  hope ;  how  it  became  a  wanderer 
from  the  Gardens  of  Eden,  that  have  their  place  high  with 
God ;  how  it  suffered,  and  wept,  and  ever  longed  to  return 
to  its  primal  home ;  how  it  was  clogged  and  fettered  by  the 
flesh,  the  world,  and  temptation,  but  how  it  finally  should 
triumph  over  all  obstacles,  and  be  numbered  once  again 
among  the  golden,  shining  bands  of  the  Father  and  the 
King.  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  innumerable  spheres  of  light 
which  rolled  in  silence  over  our  heads — each  one  a  world 
inhabited  by  splendid  Existences,  entirely  different  from 
men,  as  men  differ  from  birds  and  insects,  fishes  or  flowers ; 
and  taught  her  how  these  Star-dwellers  lifted  up  their 
thoughts  to  the  All-Father,  and  were  filled  with  reverence 
and  love,  even  as  all  created  beings  should  be.  I  gave  my 
fancy  wings,  and  endeavored  to  depicture  the  many  grades 


BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      195 

and  orders  of  happiness  which  in  perpetual  Cycles  revolve 
around  the  Divine  Centre ;  and  thus,  with  truth  and  imagi- 
nation intermingled,  I  sought  to  color  her  soul  with  those 
tints  of  beauty  which  make  it  wholly  perfect.  Why  did  I 
not  confine  myself  to  plain  matter  of  fact  ?  Because  I  hate 
it,  because  it  is  detestable,  because  it  is  false,  because  it  is 
lowering  and  degrading.  When  we  soar  in  fancy  above 
this  clay,  we  are  near  to  God ;  when  we  chain  ourselves 
down  to  one,  two,  three,  and  carry  nought,  we  are  very 
sober,  decent,  tradesmanlike  persons,  but  are  only  earthly, 
carnal,  grubbing  moles. 

"  Oh !  Zala-Mayna,"  she  would  say,  "  how  thankful  ought 
I  to  be  to  the  good  God  that  he  has  sent  you  here  to  us. 
The  old  Queen  calls  you  Eagle-sent.    Are  you  indeed  so  ?" 

"  I  believe,  indeed,  I  am  Heaven-sent  to  you,  my  sweet 
Francesca." 

"  Whether  Heaven  or  an  Eagle  sent  you,  I  know  not ; 
but  however  it  may  have  happened,  it  was  a  happy  hour 
for  both." 

"  Nay,  it  was  more  happy  still  for  me  than  you,  for  have 
I  not  j'our  love  ?" 

She  hung  down  her  head  in  silence ;  but  I  looked  into 
her  violet  blue  eyes,  and  saw  her  heart  imaged  in  their  light. 

"  How  came  it  that  you  have  learned  all  these  wonderful 
things  ?     You  are  not  much  older  than  myself." 

"  I  have  always  been  a  hard  worker,  Francesca ;  and  I 
have  had  hard  teachers,  too,  and  of  late  a  sage  one;  but 
best  of  all  are  you." 

"  Why  what  could  I  teach  you,  Zala-Mayna  ?" 

"  The  flower  and  fruit  of  knowledge — endurance  of  life, 
of  man.  Until  I  knew  you  I  hated  myself — I  hated  almost 
every  one  in  the  world.  I  disbelieved  in  virtue,  for  I  had 
never  seen  any ;  I  had  no  faith  in  truth,  or  honesty,  or 
chastity.  My  whole  existence  was  poisoned.  I  believe  I 
cursed  God  for  letting  me  come  into  being.     But  now  I 


196     EDWAKD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

bless  Him,  and  I  begin  to  feel  that  love,  and  charity,  and 

soft-eyed  gentleness  are  germinating  in  my  heart;    and  I 

could  even  forgive  m.y  enemies  their  crimes." 

"  What  crimes  have  they  committed  against  you,  Zala- 

Mayna  ?" 

'*  The  worst — ^the  crimes  of  blind,  unreasoning  hatred, 

for  no  cause ;  a  mother's  detestation — a  father's  cold  for- 

getfulness — a  sister's  enmity.     Why  am  I  an  exile  and  a 

wanderer  ?     Why  am  I  the  associate  of  these  wild  people  ? 

For  I  am  not  of  their  breed,  or  blood,  or  kindred.     Why  ? 

— ^but  because  I  have  been  wronged,  like  Ishmael,  and  like 

Ishmael's  glorious  children  may  I  have  revenge." 

"  Oh  Zala-Mayna,  you  frighten  me.  Said  you  not  but 
now  that  love  and  gentleness  were  in  your  heart  ?  Whither 
are  they  gone  ?" 

"  One  word  of  thine,  Francesca,  brings  them  back.  When 
I  have  wedded  thee,  I  will  put  reins  over  my  proud  heart. 
I  will  go  home  and  seek  my  father ;  I  will  fall  on  m}^  knees 
before  him.  I  will  present  my  angel  to  him.  He  will  see 
and  love  thee ;  he  will  forgive  the  past ;  he  will  embrace 
his  son;  he  will  take  us  to  his  heart  and  home.  Then  shall 
my  Francesca  assume  her  proper  place  ;  then  shall  we  un- 
veil the  treacherous  kinsman  who  has  robbed  her." 

The  sun  grew  faint  and  dark  as  I  spake  these  words ; 
his  disk  was  covered  with  a  dim  cloud  ;  a  chill — a  forebod- 
ing crept  over  my  spirit.  What !  was  this  blessing  then  to 
be  denied  ?  I  shuddered  ;  I  dared  not  think  it  would  be  so. 
Had  God  wholly  left  me  ? 

"  That  will  be  indeed  pleasant,  Zala-Mayna.  But  I  would 
not  have  thee  count  upon  success  in  restoring  me  to  that 
which  I  have  lost.  It  will  not  weaken  thy  love,  dearest,  if 
it  fail." 

"  No,  Francesca,  my  love  is  forever,  as  I  hope  thine  is  " 

"  So  is  my  love,  also,  Zala-Mayna ;  for  you  are  all  the 
world  to  me.     Before  I  knew  thee,  I  was  dead.     Now  I  am 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      197 

alive  and  happy.  If  my  life  could  serve  thee,  I  would  give 
it.  For  you  have  given  me  more  than  life ;  you  have  given 
me  a  soul,  which  I  had  not  until  I  knew  and  learned  from 
thee." 

Thus  w«  talked  and  speculated — and  Nemesis,  I  suppose, 
heard  us,  and  laughed  behind  that  dun  cloud.  What  is 
Nemesis  ?     Have  you  ever  thought,  wise  student  ? 

Much  of  our  time  was  spent  on  the  water.  I  had  put 
together  a  rude  boat,  which  was  just  capable  of  containing 
three  persons — myself,  Francesca,  and  a  young  Gitana,  who 
sometimes  accompanied  us.  The  boat  carried  a  small  sail, 
and  from  long  practice  I  had  grown  fearless,  and  cared  not 
what  winds  blow,  or  waves  rolled ;  secure  in  a  sort  of  con- 
sciousness of  invulnerability  which  has  always  accompanied 
me,  and  I  believe  preserved  me  through  the  greatest  dangers. 
I  have  never  yet  been  wounded,  and  I  know  I  never  shall. 
Yet  I  Jiave  passed  through  war  and  terror  more  than  most 
men,  and  have  wrestled  for  life  in  dreadful  conflict  on  the 
land  and  sea.  What  life  can  be  compared  to  this  ?  life  in 
the  free  open  beam  of  Nature,  amid  her  hills,  and  by  her 
waters,  beneath  her  blue  and  smiling  skies,  and  her  stars  of 
lights  ?  The  very  atmosphere  seemed  loaded  with  purity ; 
the  whole  aspect  of  all  that  was  around  us  seemed  ineffably 
sacred.  Our  tent  existence  was  a  dark,  prosaic  spot, 
indeed,  in  this  delicious  picture,  for  there  we  came  in  contact 
with  strange  and  wild  characters,  now  homely,  now  earth- 
bom  in  the  extreme ;  but  when  we  were  away  in  the  silent, 
green,  and  lonely  Downs,  on  which  the  sun  glittered  with 
resplendent  softness,  and  over  which  the  choir  of  larks,  and 
blackbirds,  and  thrushes  warbled  with  the  wildest  melody, 
and  in  strains  that  poured  gladness  through  the  vital  being; 
when  we  reclined  among  the  wild  thyme,  or  amid  beds  of 
violets,  and  heath,  and  clover  with  which  the  place  was 
filled,  and  gazed  upon  the  solemn,  grand,  majestic  wall  of 
ocean  in  the  sapphire  distance,  over  which  the  silver  sea- 
ls 


198      BDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

gull  twinkled,  or  some  solitary  ship  moved  in  full  sail ;  or 
when  we  looked  aloft  into  the  purple  heaven  above  us,  and 
fashioned  to  ourselves  the  fancy  of  some  lovely  sphere  to 
which  our  spirits  might  ascend,  and  go  through  scenes  of 
wonder,  and  delight,  and  rare  achievement — ^then,  indeed, 
we  were  most  happy ;  for  we  were  far  removed  from  all  that 
makes  actual  life  a  thing  of  dulness  and  routine,  except  in 
those  fiery  passages  of  war,  or  travel,  or  adventure,  which 
are  so  rare,  and  so  exciting.  To  pass  one's  time  with 
Nature  is  always  sweet ;  this  the  anchorites  of  old  felt ;  her 
heavenly  calm  penetrates  our  essence  and  makes  us  like 
herself;  but  when  love  like  ours  becomes  a  portion  of  the 
life  so  passed,  there  is  no  dweller  in  a  palace,  or  wearer  of 
a  crown  whom  I  would  envy  for  a  moment. 

We  sailed  along  a  little  lagune  which  flows  up  just  below 
the  green  meadows,  where,  under  the  arch  of  a  few  old  trees, 
our  camp  was  pitched ;  we  bore  our  light  skiff  over  the 
barrier  of  beach  which  divided  this  from  the  open  sea,  and 
launched  it  on  its  purple  bosom.  The  gentle  winds  filled  the 
white  sail,  and  wafted  us  smoothly  into  the  full  ocean ;  there 
we  cast  our  nets  and  snared  the  fish,  or  mused  over  some 
favorite  volume,  for  I  had  now  procured  a  few  books ;  and 
Taso,  Ariosto,  and  Dante  became  alike  companions  of  our 
love-winged  hours.  We  lived  again  in  the  days  of  knight- 
hood and  enchantment.  We  meditated  on  the  spirit-secrets 
of  the  Dark  Unknown,  to  which  the  lonely  Florentine  led 
us  as  it  were  in  a  dream.  I  told  her  of  my  past  life,  its 
follies,  failings,  and  aspirations.  I  recounted  the  odd 
scenes  into  which  chance  had  thrown  me,  and  contrasted  the 
drawing-room,  or  the  assembly,  their  artificial  lights  and 
poison-breathing  flowers,  and  hollow  habitants,  with  that  in 
which  we  now  moved.  As  we  both  reflected  more  and  more 
on  the  falseness  that  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
towns  and  polite  people,  we  turned  to  each  other  with 
renewed    happiness;  and   feeling   all   the   rapture  of  our 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  199 

situation,  on  which  no  exH  eye  intruded,  on  which  no  female 
tongue  vented  its  venom,  on  which  no  snake-like  heart 
effused  its  malice,  we  thanked  the  errant  chance  that  had 
thus  brought  together  two  spirits  so  congenial,  fervent,  and 
united. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

He  who  hath  not  known  love,  let  him  die.  To  him  the 
great  Mj'steries  of  Life  are  a  sealed  volume.  He  is  but  half 
a  man,  and  when  he  passes  away  from  earth  he  passes  as 
an  incomplete  being,  whose  mission  among  his  brethren 
has  been  unfulfilled.  For  there  is  no  passio»  that  awakens 
the  heart  and  evokes  its  mystic  faculties  but  this.  Ambi- 
tion— I  have  felt  it,  but  it  is  a  base  and  selfish  feeling ;  its 
every  energy  is  concentrated  into  one  focus,  for  the  indi- 
vidual advancement  of  the  laborer,  the  two-legged  mite  who 
wishes  to  be  worshipped  by  other  mites.  Avarice  is  the 
same;  the  pride  of  knowledge  is  also  a  poor  selfish  thing; 
but  love  alone  is  a  dual  divinity;  its  hopes,  efforts,  and 
objects  are  all  shai*ed  with  another,  and  that  other  is  the 
better  and  purer  half  of  our  own  nature.  O  woman  I  how 
true,  how  noble,  how  heavenly  a  being  thou  artl  I  have 
read  and  heard  of  men  at  whose  name  the  world  bows  the 
knee,  and  have  been  taught  to  think  in  honor  of  their  hero- 
ism ;  but  the  true,  the  sole,  the  great  and  perfect  heroic, 
exists  in  Woman  only — or  if  there  be  an  exception  among 
Men,  it  is  only  that  it  may  prove  the  rule  to  be  true  which 
I  have  first  enunciated.  There  have  been  moments  when  I 
would  have  curled  the  lip  at  any  man  who  spake  this  truth, 
and  sneered  him  down  as  most  unworthy  of  his  race ;  when 
I  would  have  smitten  him  to  the  dust  with  a  mocking  glance 
and  a  satirical  smile,  as  one  but  fitted  to  comb  a  lap-dog  or 


20(^  BDWAED    WORTLBY    MOKTAGU. 

be  "  brained  by  my  lady's  fan ;"  but  in  the  confessions  of 
my  heart  I  will  not  lie,  nor  deceive  myself  or  others.  I  will 
put  forth  the  broadly  honest  opinions  of  my  soul,  founded 
upon  experience  and  reflections.  Man  is  intellectually 
superior,  but  morally  inferior  to  Woman ;  and  all  the  great 
things  of  the  earth  will  be  found  on  examination  to  have 
been  inspired,  fostered,  and  fed  under  the  sunshine  of 
female  auspices. 

It  would  be  easy  to  prove  this  by  reference  to  history  and 
biography,  but  this  is  not  a  disquisition.  Let  him  who 
questions  it  inquire  with  an  honest  spirit,  and  he  will  find 
that  I  am  right.  He  will  trace  back  every  noble  discovery, 
either  in  art  or  science ;  every  holy  principle  of  philanthropy 
that  has  been  reduced  into  practical  action ;  every  institu- 
tion that  redeems  earth  from  ignominy,  and  gives  a  glimpse 
of  the  Paradise  Gardens  from  which  we  are  hapless  exiles, 
to  the  guiding  influence  of  sacred  Woman.  From  her  the 
philosopher  has  learned  the  truest  love;  the  soldier  the 
most  lofty  courage ;  the  navigator  the  rarest  patience ;  the 
poet  the  purest  sentiment.  Open  the  historic  page,  and 
every  line  is  full  of  feminine  devotion  and  grandeur  of  soul, 
faithfulness  in  affliction,  courage  in  misfortune,  wisdom  in 
the  midst  of  danger,  hope  when  whirled  in  the  eddies  of 
despair. 

Think  not,  O  grave  and  stolid  man,  that  I  am  an  enthu- 
siast because  I  have  known  and  loved  one  perfect  woman. 
I  know  the  sanity  of  that  species  of  philosophy  which 
judges  generally  from  units.  I  know  how  wild  would  be 
the  delusion  of  supposing  that  all  women  are  alike  great 
and  holy,  because  I  happen  to  be  acquainted  with  one  who 
combined  within  herself  greatness  and  holiness.  I  have 
Bot  said  all  women  are  alike ;  I  should  be  mad  if  I  were  to 
say  it.  I  have  met  women  that  were  baser  than  wolves.  I 
have  not  compared  all  women  with  my  Francesca.  I  should 
be  a  dupe  or  a  liar  if  I  had  done  so,  for  I  have  seen  some 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.      201 

that  were  as  fiends.  All  that  I  have  said  implies  this,  and 
no  more,  that  comparing  Woman  with  Man,  the  former  is 
immeasurably  his  superior  in  all  that  elevates  our  race 
above  mere  earthliness  ;  and  that  Men  would  be  a  horde  of 
savages,  or  worse,  if  they  were  not  humanized  or  even 
etherealizod  by  the  benign  influence  of  Women.  I  know 
that  men  have  become  effeminate  and  women  have  become 
detestable  when  female  power  was  in  the  ascendant  over 
the  male,  as  it  is  in  France  at  this  moment ;  but  I  speak 
not  of  a  state  of  things  which  is  the  result  of  vice,  but  that 
which  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of  virtue. 

Let  me  have  done,  however,  with  moralizing.  It  is  at  all 
times  dull  work,  and  never  more  so  than  when  introduced 
into  a  Life  Story,  which  must  depend  upon  facts  for  its 
value.  This  book  is  a  record  of  things  that  actually  took 
place.  Let  those  who  will,  draw  their  own  lessons  from 
the  circumstances  narrated ;  and  if  they  do  not  like  my 
conclusions,  let  them  adopt  their  own  as  better. 

The  sun  shines  sweetly  in  the  heaven ;  I  see  the  sparkling 
distant  sea,  lit  by  ten  million  glittering  splendors.  The 
rich  blue  sky  canopies  the  deep  water  ;  all  is  peace,  beauty, 
and  divineness.  I  lean  back  in  my  chair  and  let  my 
thoughts  wander  back  into  the  Past.  I  dream  a  dream  of 
exquisite  fancy.  A  series  of  pictures  rises  up  before  my 
memory  like  those  that  gleam  upon  us  as  we  muse  over 
Spenser's  Faerie  Queen  ;  but  they  are  indescribable.  Their 
evanescent  tints  are  gone  before  I  can  commit  them  to  the 
dull  paper.  I  cast  my  eyes  backwards,  far,  far  over  my 
whole  pilgrimage,  and  it  is  a  varied  one ;  but  is  at  times 
brightened  by  sweet  scenes.  Those  of  early  youth  are 
perhaps  alone  the  pleasantest — ^yet  are  not  they  wholly 
without  a  cloud  ? 

Francesca!  my  own,  my  loved,  my  fond  twin-heart! — 
where  art  thou  now  ?  Shinest  thou  upon  me  from  the 
heaven  of  light,  where  alone  thy  dwelling-place  can  be? 


20^ 


EDWARD     WOETLBY     MONTAQU. 


Hast  thou  revisited  earth  to  bring  me  comfort  in  my  loneli- 
ness ?  Where  art  thou  ?  Thou  seest  how  I  love  thee — 
albeit,  thou  art  lost  to  mine  embrace ;  yet  in  thy  pure  spirit 
must  abide  one  strong  conviction,  that  thou  alone  wert  as 
my  soul's  second  self,  and  that  losing  thee  I  lost  all.  I 
dream  of  thee  on  my  lonely  couch  ;  in  the  day  when  I 
walk  forth  I  see  and  feel  thee  in  the  surrounding  sunshine. 
When  the  bright  and  warm  rays  play  around  me,  methinks 
it  is  thy  clasp  I  feel ;  when  the  stars  glitter  over  me  at 
midnight  methinks  it  is  thy  smile,  thy  A'igilant  eye  of  love 
that  efluses  its  beam  above  my  form,  and  beckons  me  to 
yonder  glowing  spheres.  I  move  upon  the  ocean,  and  I 
am  conscious  of  thy  presence ;  I  wander  into  the  mountain, 
and  I  know  that  thou  art  there ;  a  magnetic  effluence  from 
all  surrounding  beautiful  objects  glides  through  me,  and 
speaks  to  me  of  thee.  Music ; — ^when  I  hearken  to  it,  it  is 
thy  witching  speech  I  hear;  the  rainbow; — ^when  I  look 
upon  it,  it  is  thy  softening  presence ;  the  breath  of  flowers, 
when  they  charm  me ; — it  is  thy  breath  I  feel ;  the  wind 
whispers  amid  the  pine  trees,  and  lo !  it  is  thy  voice  that 
calls  to  me  from  heaven.  When  I  recall  those  bygone 
da^'s,  how  beautifully  they  revive  in  heavenly  brightness. 
Methinks  I  was  a  spirit  then — ^now  I  am  a  man ;  a  mere 
man  of  base,  muddy  flesh  and  blood — all  over  animal,  all 
over  earthliness,  unetherealized,  disenchanted.  I  have 
grown  so  thoroughly  worldly  and  animal-like  that  I  can 
almost  believe  the  wild  theory  of  those  who  tell  us  every 
man  is  twofold — half  an  angel,  half  a  demon ;  and  that  as 
the  influence  of  each  predominates,  so  is  his  life  shaped. 
In  those  days  I  feel  that  I  was  pure.  In  her  presence  I 
was  a  spirit  worthy  of  the  Divine  Presence.  All  my 
thoughts  were  high  and  august.  I  could  no  more  have 
conceived  an  impure  idea  when  my  loved  Francesca  was 
beside  me  than  I  could  have  risen  up  and  blasphemed  God ; 
for  she  was  purity  itself. 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.      203 

"We  were  entirely  isolated  from  all  the  world.  Over  the 
gypsies  she  seemed  silently  to  hold  some  wondrous  spell. 
She  was  among  them,  but  not  of  them.  Generally  speak- 
ing, they  are  not  much  inclined  to  yield  submission  to  the 
stranger — ^but  Francesca  appeared  to  exercise  even  over 
the  rudest,  some  mysterious  mighty  influence.  They  did 
not  accost  her  as  they  were  used  to  accost  others ;  to  me 
also  they  manifested  a  sort  of  savage  deference ;  and  as  it 
were  by  common  consent,  we  were  unmolested  in  all  things. 
The  lonely  Downs  were  ever  ours ;  the  green  dales,  in  which 
only  were  a  few  wandering  sheep,  formed  our  favorite  walk. 
When  the  sun  was  bright,  we  crept  into  a  shepherd's  hut, 
and  looked  upon  the  distant  sea,  which  seemed  to  rear  its 
sapphire  sparkling  wall  against  the  land.  But  for  some 
wandei-iug  barque,  it  would  have  resembled  a  solid  barrier 
of  glittering  gems.  Here  also  was  our  shelter  when  the 
rain  fell — but  this  is  a  rare  event  in  this  southern  clime. 
What  was  our  employment  in  those  hours,  it  may  be  asked  ? 
In  truth  we  had  none.  We  sat  silent ;  we  sat  entranced. 
For  both  it  was  delight  enough  to  hold  the  hand  witliin 
the  hand ;  to  look  into  the  eyes,  and  give  utterance  to  the 
heart  in  a  sigh ;  to  breathe  some  simple  vow  of  love  into  the 
ear ;  to  watch  the  light  that  beamed  in  the  happy  smile,  or 
the  lustre  that  played  over  the  rosy  lip,  and  tlien  fell  back 
into  mute  reverie. 

There  was  one  feeling,  which  above  all  others  was  deeply 
impressed  upon  the  heart  of  this  sweet  and  dreaming  child 
of  beauty — the  feeling  of  Religion — let  me  add,  without 
presumption,  that  I  labored  all  I  could  to  foster  it;  for 
without  dependence  and  belief  in  God,  what  is  man,  and 
what  is  life?  Heaven  knows  I  am  no  puritan,  and  my 
career  has  been  wild,  wayward  and  eccentric,  but  never 
have  I  forgot  Him  who  is  above  all ;  nor  ever  have  I  ceased 
to  breathe  this  name  into  the  heart  of  any  who  would  listen. 
My  Francesca  was  naturally  pious  and  good.    Her  pare 


204     BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

and  heavenlj'  heart  was  in  harmony  with  pure  and  heavenly 
things.  Akiba  had  given  a  solemn  tinge  to  my  own  mind ; 
the  old  man  had  so  long  outlived  the  vanities  of  earth,  and 
tad  so  fully  experienced  that  in  life  there  is,  alter  all,  noth- 
ing certain  but  the  Future,  and  the  Lord  of  the  Future, 
that  he  had  often  checked  my  youthful  folly,  and  brought 
me  back  from  mere  earthliness  to  themes  of  heaven  and 
immortal  life.  I  was  a  boy,  indeed — ^yet  I  hope  with  feel- 
ings that  were  not  wholly  boyish ;  and  though  I  could  not 
venture  to  dictate  to  her,  yet  I  could  direct  her  thoughts 
where  they  needed  it.  But  they  flowed  naturally  into  re- 
ligion, holiness  and  purity.  She  was  unperplexed  by 
schools  or  systems;  her  religion  was  the  outpouring  of 
the  heart  to  God  in  gratitude,  in  veneration,  in  faith ;  the 
three  essentials  which,  as  it  seems  to  me,  constitute  the 
whole  secret  of  the  truly  religious  spirit.  She  loved  Him 
not  because  of  liturgies  or  theories,  but  because  she  felt  He 
deserved  her  love — and  the  love  of  all  His  creatures,  no 
matter  how  lowly  they  may  be. 

She  lifted  up  her  sweet  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  saw  the  Su 
preme  everywhere — in  His  golden,  beaming  stars,  peopled 
with  eve  rlasing  existences  ;  in  His  rainbow,  which  we  are 
told  is  the  canopy  of  His  everlasting  throne  of  splendor — 
in  His  moon,  the  nearest  of  all  His  spheres  to  this  our 
wandering  earth — bright  luminary  of  the  blue  heaven, 
whose  presence  is  like  soft  music  to  the  contemplative 
heart ;  in  His  sun,  that  emblem  of  himself,  which  ever  and 
ever  revolves  in  light  and  beauty,  and  brings  happiness  and 
health  whenever  he  appears.  Nor  did  she  recognize  the 
Holy  One  in  these  only — they  are  such  vast  and  wondrous 
evidences  that  they  flash  conviction  even  upon  the  dullest. 
In  tne  minutest  of  His  works  she  saw  Him  not  less  clearly 
manifested.  The  mountain  towering  in  sublime  grandeur 
was  not  more  clearly  indicative  of  His  power,  than  the 
little  mite  which  ran  over  the  leaf,  and  which  in  the  minu- 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.     205 

test  form  presented  all  the  functions  of  a  living  being,  with 
heart,  brain,  eyes,  veins  and  muscles — may  I  add  a  soul  ? 
For  who  can  doubt  every  living  thing  is  immortal  and  can 
never  die  ?  The  blue  and  silver  arch  of  heaven  every  mo- 
ment presenting  new  and  glorious  aspects,  was  not  a  more 
certain  demonstration  of  the  Eternal  One,  than  the  leaf  of 
the  rose  tree,  which  showed  in  its  minute  ramifications  of 
veins,  and  nerves,  and  arteries,  the  astonishing  benevolence 
of  God,  who  wills  not  that  even  a  bit  of  herbage  shall  be 
without  its  happiness ;  and  who  provides  for  that  happi- 
ness by  giving  it  all  those  fine  and  delicate  fibres  of  organi- 
zation which  are  of  the  same  nature  as  those  that  pervade 
the  brain  and  heart  of  man,  and  lift  him  from  the  earth  to 
God. 

One  day  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  me.  I  had  been 
wayward,  foolish,  inconsiderate,  importunate.  Methinks  I 
see  her  now-  Her  hat  was  half  suspended  on  her  shoulders ; 
her  hair  in  wild  ringlets  hung  down  her  snowy  neck ;  her 
white  robe  shone  like  the  raiment  of  some  celestial  spirit. 
But  her  eyes — who  can  paint  their  heavenly  expression  of 
sadness,  passion  and  undying  fondness  ?  She  wept ;  she 
held  my  hands  in  hers ;  she  kissed  them  a  thousand  times ; 
she  hung  her  head  on  my  lap.  Her  look,  so  full  of  loveli- 
ness, besought  love,  sj'mpathy,  protection.  The  sunshine 
fell  around  us  in  golden  showers;  the  birds  sang;  the 
heaven  rejoiced  in  light;  the  distant  ocean  sparkled  like 
one  of  the  rivers  of  Indra  ;  the  wind  bore  the  fragrance  of 
the  violets  that  were  thickly  bedded  on  the  adjoining  hill- 
ock. I  raised  her  to  my  heart ;  I  folded  her  as  if  I  should 
never  loose  her  again.  What  mighty  passion  then  convulsed 
our  souls  ?  Either  would  at  that  moment  have  sacrificed 
life  for  the  welfare  of  each  other. 

"  My  own  darling  Edward,"  she  said,  "  say  again,  and 
again,  that  you  will  never  leave  me  ?" 


206     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"Never,  Francesco — never  will  I  leave  thee  while  life 
lasts." 

"  Yet  I  feel  a  sad  presentiment  of  evil.  Do  you  believe 
in  presentiments  ?" 

"  Whj-^  do  you  ask  me,  dearest,  if  you  are  certain  of  my 
love?" 

"Yes — I  am  certain  of  your  love,  but  this  condition 
seems  too  heavenly  to  last,  and  my  heart  is  sad,  and  my 
hopes  are  clouded." 

"  Love  me,  and  then  you  will  not  be  sad." 

"  Oh !  I  cannot  love  you  more  than  I  now  do.  It  is  the 
very  force  of  my  love  that  makes  me  fear  we  shall  be 
parted." 

"  Fear  not,  Francesca — ^but  even  if  we  are,  know  that  it 
will  be  but  for  a  time.  Your  soul  and  mine  are  one. 
Nothing  can  disunite  them.  Death  may  separate,  but  after 
death — there  is  God — " 

"  Well  then,  T  shall  hope  on — convinced  that  death,  if 
nothing  else,  will  make  us  one." 

"  In  that  hope  abide,  my  own  love,  and  then  nothing  can 
make  you  sad." 

Hand  in  hand  we  descended  from  the  Downs,  and  launched 
our  little  boat.  The  wind  blew  freshly ;  we  sped  along  the 
laguue,  and  watched  the  wavering  sail  and  flitting  clouds, 
and  she  nestled  by  my  side,  as  with  a  guiding  hand  I  man- 
aged sheet  and  rudder.  We  passed  out  into  the  deep  waterp. 
The  waves  rose  in  azure  light  above  our  prow ;  there  was 
an  emerald  track  behind  us  where  we  had  cut  the  green  and 
yielding  sea.  We  went  out  into  the  deep  waters.  It  was 
little  more  than  noon.  All  was  still,  sunny,  heavenly, 
bright.  The  ocean  was  like  a  sleeping  child.  The  sun 
gleamed  on  the  verdant  laughing  hills  ;  the  far-oflT  cottages 
and  villas  sparkled  like  snow  on  the  distant  shore.  Every 
feature  of  the  scene  was  placid  and  delightful.  We  saw 
the  sauntering  horseman  glide  along  the  inland  highway ; 


EDWARD     WORTLBY     MONTAQIT.  207 

we  watched  the  sea-birds  skimming  over  the  marble-like 
face  of  ocean  ;  we  leaned  back  in  the  boat  and  were  happy, 
if  ever  children  of  the  earth  were  happy. 

Thus  the  lazy  hours  passed,  and  thus  it  was  for  months. 
On  land,  we  chased  the  butterfly,  or  gathered  thyme ;  on 
sea  we  cast  our  nets,  and  captured  the  many-colored  fish. 
Books  also  were  our  companions ;  and  when  books  tired, 
Francesca  sang,  and  sweetly  rolled  her  voice  over  those 
blue  waters.  The  echo  entered  my  soul ;  it  melted  my  very 
heart.  It  was  like  a  spirit  of  love  embodied  in  humau  form. 
At  times,  too,  we  brought  a  flute  with  us,  and  as  I  had  ac- 
quired some  skill  in  playing,  I  often  made  the  distant 
Downs  re-echo  the  soft  melody,  that  floated  along  the  sea 
like  some  water-nymph.  Meanwhile  our  wandering  boat 
skimmed  listlessly  about,  we  cared  not  how  or  whither. 
When  we  got  into  deep  water,  I  furled  the  sail,  and  gave 
her  up  to  chance  to  waft  her  as  it  willed.  There  was  a  wild 
excitement  in  thus  surrendering  our  souls  to  the  present, 
and  living  in  the  summer-day  sunshine  without  a  thought 
or  care.  When  we  woke  out  of  our  ecstatic  dreams,  it 
often  happened  that  we  found  ourselves  far  and  far  away 
from  land,  and  reached  the  shore  at  night  with  diflSculty. 

On  one  of  these  excursions  the  sun  had  been  particularly 
powerful ;  not  a  breath  stirred  the  sea.  Our  boat  lay  still 
as  if  she  had  been  fastened  into  the  solid  emerald ;  there 
was  not  wind  enough  even  to  lift  the  light  vane  that  she 
carried  at  her  mast-head.  We  were  weary.  I  pulled  the 
sail  over  our  heads,  and  we  lay  down  in  each  other's  arms. 
AVe  mused  a  while,  and  then  fell  asleep.  A  dream  appeared 
above  us.  A  fair  woman,  but  her  ej'es  were  sad,  and  there 
was  sorrow  painted  in  her  face ;  she  gazed  on  us  for  a  long 
time  with  an  indescribable  look  of  love  and  hope,  and 
tenderness,  and  light.  A  whole  eventful  life  was  written 
in  her  clear  brown  eyes;  my  heart  yearned  towards  her 
with  a  strange  sympathy.     She  was  richly  dressed,  but 


208     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

with  a  simple  air,  devoid  of  art.  After  contemplating  ns 
in  silence,  she  beckoned  as  it  were  upwards,  and  I  heard  in 
soft  voice,  the  words :  "  Come  and  see."  And  suddenly 
beside  her  stood  a  man,  not  very  tall,  but  with  a  command- 
ing presence,  and  noble  bearing.  She  cast  her  eyes  down- 
wards upon  us  and  smiled ;  he  also  did  the  same,  and  each 
looked  upon  the  other,  and  a  heavenly  ray  played  over 
their  features.  They  now  stood  by  my  side,  and  my  heart 
seemed  gladdened.  I  felt  an  invisible  energy  within  that 
seemed  to  uplift  me  from  the  sea,  and  to  transport  me  into 
a  distant  sphere.  Then  Francesca  rose  up,  I  knew  not 
whence,  for  I  had  not  before  seen  her,  and  she  stood  be- 
tween them,  and  they  kissed  her  with  a  holy  fondness,  and 
each  taking  a  hand,  they  led  her  towards  me,  and  placed 
her  in  my  arms,  and  I  thought  I  heard  these  words,  "  Take 
her,  she  is  thine,  guard  her  as  the  apple  of  thine  eye,  for 
no  purer,  fairer  being  breathes  the  breath  of  life.  We  give 
her  to  thee  for  thine  own,  for  thou  hast  saved  her,  and  we 
know  that  in  thy  heart  she  is  the  shrined  and  loved  one." 
And  the  dream  was  gone  and  we  awoke,  both  in  the  same 
instant,  and  I  told  her  what  I  had  seen,  and  we  knew  that 
it  was  a  vision  of  those  who  had  given  her  birth,  and  of 
whom  we  yet  knew  nothing. 


CHAPTER   XYII. 

Now  I  became  filled  with  an  intense  desire  to  know  the 
secret  of  her  birth  and  history.  Francesca  remembered 
nothing  herself;  she  had  been  stolen  away  at  a  period  when 
memory  can  scarcely  be  said  to  exist.  I  often  questioned 
her,  but  she  strove  in  vain  to  recall  a  glimpse  of  her  early 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     209 

life.    At  length  I  mentioned  my  perplexity  to  Akiba.     He 
listened  and  made  answer — 

"  To  me  this  is  not  difficult.  Bring  her  hither." 
It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I  could  persuade  this 
sweet  child  to  a  meeting  with  the  old  man.  During  her 
sojourn  with  the  nurse,  she  had  heard  so  much  of  his  weird 
and  eldritch  powers,  exaggerated  as  all  such  things  are  by 
common  report,  that  she  dreaded  even  to  hear  him  named. 
What  will  not  a  lover's  lips  persuade  his  beloved  to  do  ? 
She  consented  at  length,  and  we  went  to  the  old  man's  tent. 
It  was  on  the  new  moon  eve  ;  no  one  else  was  present.  We 
found  him  sitting  in  a  corner  apparently  in  reverie.  A 
small  mukhooroo  or  tabernacle  stood  in  the  centre  made 
of  wicker-work,  and  over  it  was  placed  a  brass  image  of 
some  Indian  deity,  and  half  a  dozen  ancient  looking  amu- 
lets. There  was  also  an  earthen  vessel  of  curious  shape, 
in  which  frankincense,  camphor,  and  other  precious  per- 
fumes were  alight  and  burning.  The  old  man  liaving  a 
twisted  silken  sash  of  man}"^  colors,  fumed  it  over  the 
smoking  fire,  and  bound  it  round  his  head,  and  then  after 
a  considerable  pause  chanted  words  somewhat  in  the  fol- 
lowing fashion  : 

My  being  is  filled  with  the  waren  of  the  Supreme, 
I  see  nought  else  but  the  AU-knowlng. 

0  wielder  of  the  all-beaming  light. 

Let  thy  Splendor  illuminate  thy  serrantt 

Let  my  whole  form  be  made  luminous, 

My  heart,  my  soul,  my  brain,  my  spirit. 

My  being  is  filled  with  the  waren  of  the  Suprama, 

1  see  nought  else  but  the  AU-knower. 
As  the  sun  puts  the  darkness  to  flight, 
Even  so  let  thy  Wisdom  dispel  ignoranotf. 

That  I  may  penetrate  the  dim  Past, 

That  I  may  behold  the  secrets  of  former  daya. 

That  I  may  view  imaged  the  hidden  deeds. 
That  were  done  in  defiance  of  Thee. 

My  being  is  filled  with  the  waren  of  the  Supreme, 
I  see  nought  else  but  the  All-lcnowcr. 


210      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Then  concentrating  his  gaze  with  a  fixed  stare  upon 
Francesca,  he  regarded  her  for  about  five  minutes.  A 
strange,  unearthly,  greenish  light  glittered  in  his  eyes.  He 
seemed  possessed.  His  color  came  and  went;  now  his 
cheeks  were  icy  pale,  and  now  suflTused  with  fire  But  his 
eyes  never  lost  that  fixed  and  flaming  emerald-colored 
splendor  which  I  have  since  seen  only  in  the  eyes  of  a  hyena 
in  the  midnight  hour.  Then  in  a  hollow  voice  the  old  man 
spake  these  words — 

"  I  see  a  noble-looking  man  in  the  flower  of  life,  and  by 
his  side  is  a  fair  bride.  They  pass  from  the  gray  old 
church ;  they  are  borne  through  a  vast  park,  into  a  mansion 
of  great  extent ;  a  double  line  of  servants  greets  them  with 
many  a  blessing.  They  are  followed  by  a  younger  man,  who 
bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  first — a  brother,  or  some 
near  relative.  He  smiles  upon  the  newly-married  pair,  and 
offers  them  his  warm  wishes.  I  see  into  his  heart ;  there  is 
a  chalice  of  poison  hidden  there,  and  under  the  chalice  there 
is  the  symbol  of  a  serpent.  Happy  are  the  days  and  years 
of  the  young  couple.  But  one  blessing  only  is  denied. 
They  have  no  child  to  be  the  heir  of  their  vast  possessions. 
They  have  every  wish  gratified  but  this.  At  length  a  child 
is  born,  but  it  is  a  daughter.  Great,  nevertheless,  is  the 
rejoicing ;  the  brother  comes  and  is  glad,  but  I  see  into  his 
heart,  and  he  meditates  death  or  some  other  evil.  Friends 
are  summoned  from  all  parts  of  the  country  to  celebrate  the 
auspicious  birth,  and  there  are  young  heads  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  old  temples  mantled  with  joy,  and  the  ancient 
mansion  is  lit  up,  and  all  is  splendor  and  festivity,  and 
happiness,  for  another  scion  of  that  noble  family  is  born, 
and  its  great  possessions  shall  not  pass  out  of  the  direct 
line.  The  husband  smiles  upon  his  wife,  and  they  look 
forward  to  years  of  happiness,  and  anticipate  the  career 
that  opens  for  the  lovely  stranger  who  has  come  to  them 
from  God. 


BDWABD  WORTLBT  MONTAOU.     211 

"  Some  years  pass,  and  the  babe  is  grown,  and  is  the  beauty 
of  the  whole  country ;  golden  are  her  flowing  locks,  and  blue 
her  eyes,  and  her  skin  is  like  the  water-lotus  in  its  sunny 
brightness ;  her  complexion  is  the  rainbow's  pink.  And 
proud  and  happy  are  the  parents  of  so  fair  a  flower.  She 
wanders  in  her  father's  garden — a  lovely  place,  with  balus- 
trades of  marble,  and  terraces  with  flowers,  and  fountains 
launching  their  silver  waters  into  the  sunny  air ;  and  her 
father's  brother  is  by  her  side ;  her  nurse  also  is  there. 

"  It  is  night,  and  there  is  a  gipsy  tent,  and  the  brother 
comes  into  the  tent,  and  there  is  a  Calero  waiting  for  him, 
and  him  he  bribes  with  gold,  and  the  Calero  gives  him  a 
drug,  and  the  two  men  look  at  each  other  and  laugh,  and 
the  stranger  goes  away  smiling,  but  I  can  see  into  his  heart, 
and  I  do  not  like  the  root  from  which  that  smile  springs. 

"  I  see  the  garden  once  again,  and  the  little  one  is  crowned 
with  flowers,  and  the  female  attendant  who  is  always  with 
her  has  played  on  a  mandoline,  and  sang  a  sweet  song  for 
the  little  one ;  and  she  rests  on  her  knee,  and  the  nurse  pulls 
a  silver  flask  out  of  her  pocket — she  knows  not  that  it  has 
been  drugged — and  she  tastes  it,  and  instantly  she  is 
wrapped  in  a  deep  and  death-like  slumber.  From  behind  a 
large  tree  the  Calero  comes,  and  he  muflles  up  the  little  one, 
and  disappears ;  and  in  the  night  he  strikes  his  tent,  and  is 
away  at  a  great  distance. 

"  On  the  day  after  a  letter  comes  to  the  parents  of  the  lit- 
tle one  ;  it  bears  a  foreign  postmark,  France  or  Italy,  I  see 
not  which,  and  it  announces  the  return  home  of  the  brother, 
who  has  been  absent  for  many  weeks.  No  one  suspects  him 
to  be  in  league  with  the  Calero  to  rob  his  brother  of  the 
child  who  stands  between  himself  and  the  estate. 

"Bu*.  they — I  see  them  stricken  with  a  mighty  grief;  and 
first  the  mother  pines  away.  Messengers  have  gone  into 
all  places,  but  no  tidings  of  the  lost  one  are  heard.  The 
nurse  is  questioned ;  she  knows  only  of  the  death-like  slum- 


212      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

ber,  during  which  her  charge  was  stolen,  or  wandered,  and 
was  lost.  The  child's  hat  is  found  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
and  this  gives  rise  to  a  report  of  drowning,  and  the  river 
is  searched  even  to  the  mouth  of  the  sea,  but  no  body  is 
discovered,  nor  any  trace  or  rumor  of  the  lost  one.  The 
brother  arrives  from  a  foreign  land,  and  he  gives  way  to 
loud  lamentation — but  I  look  into  his  heart,  and  I  can  see 
at  the  bottom  of  it  the  chalice  of  poison  bubbling  high, 
and  the  symbol  of  the  serpent  coiling  itself  around  in  glee. 

"  There  is  an  open  tomb,  a  hearse  drawn  by  four  horses, 
and  a  coffin  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  the  mother's 
body  is  brought  forth  and  deposited  in  the  ancestral  vault. 
She  is  followed  by  a  gray  and  stricken  man.  Can  this  be 
he  who  but  within  a  few  short  years  was  the  brave  and 
noble-looking  bridegroom  in  the  flower  of  life  ?  Alas !  it 
is.  Six  months  passed,  and  he  also  is  borne  forth  in  death. 
Desolation  sits  upon  his  house. 

"  The  brother  has  become  the  lord  of  the  estate.  The 
Calero  is  departed  ;  he  is  troubled  in  mind  lest  the  Calero 
may  restore  her  again,  and  blast  his  prospects  and  his 
place.  But  years  pass  and  the  Calero  comes  not.  He  feels 
contented.  Suddenly  he  receives  a  letter.  A  new  Calero 
comes  and  threatens  him  with  disgrace.  He  bargains  with 
him  for  gold  to  deliver  up  the  girl.  The  compact  is  made. 
They  meet ;  the  meeting  fails  ;  the  Calero  is  in  death ;  the 
usurping  lord  flies  away  in  terror.  1  see  the  semblance  of 
two  whom  I  know." 

Here  he  stopped.     But  I  had  grown  impatient. 

"  O  venerable  sage,"  I  asked,  "  canst  thou  not  give  us 
any  clue  to  the  parentage  of  Francesca  ?  She  is  my  be- 
trothed; she  is  the  rightful  owner  of  large  possessions. 
What  avails  all,  if  we  know  not  this  ?" 

He  paused,  and  answered,  "  I  cannot  tell  names.  The 
personages  whom  I  see  speak  not  audibly.  I  can  see  their 
lips  move  ;  I  can  behold  their  dresses  and  appearance  ;  the 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      213 

localities  in  which  they  act  and  dwell ;  but  I  cannot  go  be- 
yond this.  The  castle  that  should  be  hers  is  a  great  and 
noble  baronial  pile ;  the  park  is  vast,  and  crowned  with 
beauty.  It  is  in  England,  but  where,  I  know  not.  This 
must  be  for  thee  to  discover." 

Then  I  said,  "  0  venerable  sir  and  teacher,  where  now  is 
this  false  lord  ?" 

Again  he  meditated,  and  the  emerald  fire  flashed  out  of 
his  eyes  ;  he  seemed  exhausted,  but  seeing  my  importunity, 
he  nerved  himself  to  a  great  effort. 

"  I  see  him  in  a  drawing-room  in  a  great  house.  A  fair 
lady  is  reclining  on  a  sofa  ;  she  wears  a  loose  robe,  and  on 
her  brow  the  crescent  emblem  of  Diana ;  she  has  a  writing- 
desk  near  her,  and  looks  as  if  she  had  but  just  parted  with 
the  pen.  She  seems  to  have  written  something  that  gives 
her  pleasure.  There  is  a  case  of  scarlet-covered  books, 
finely  gilt ;  there  is  a  full-length  portrait  of  a  man  in  ducal 
dress ;  he  wears  a  star  and  garter,  and  has  a  plumed  hat  in 
his  hand." 

I  started — ^this  was  the  exact  description  of  our  drawing- 
room  in  Cavendish  Square,  and  of  the  likeness  of  my  ducal 
grandfather. 

"  Look  closer,"  I  said,  "  look  and  see  what  is  in  one  of 
the  corners  of  the  room." 

The  old  man  looked,  and  said — 

"  I  see  only  a  marble  bust ;  it  wears  the  semblance  of  a 
crown ;  but  whether  gold  or  laurel  I  cannot  say." 

I  had  now  no  doubt  it  was  Lady  Mary's  own  room ;  this 
was  a  bust  which  she  had  brought  from  Vienna,  having  re- 
ceived it  there  from  one  of  the  royal  archdukes. 

Akiba  resumed — 

"  The  door  opens,  and  a  tall  man  enters — deadly  pale  and 

cadaverous,  but  finely  dressed,  with  a  courtly  badge.     It  is 

the  brother.     His  crimes  write  themselves  in  his  face.     Ho 

smiles,  but  it  is  a  corpse-like  grin.    He  seats  himself  by  the 

14 


214     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

lady ;  he  takes  her  by  the  hand ;  he  appears  to  make  an 
ardent  declaration  of  love.  She  shows  him  what  she  has 
written.  He  now  falls  on  his  knee  before  her.  Shall  I  go 
on  ?     Let  me  draw  the  curtain." 

I  needed  no  more.  The  usurper  was  then  known  to  Lady 
Mary — intimate  with  her,  as  it  would  seem,  beyond  even 
common  friendship.  Why  should  I  not  discover  him  ?  But 
even  when  I  had  done  so,  how  could  I  prove  his  guilt  ? 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

About  this  time  we  were  visited  by  a  noisy,  swearing, 
swaggering,  roystering  feUow,  who  called  himself  Dom  Bal- 
thazar, and  who  looked  a  knave  and  a  villain,  if  any  one  of 
that  honorable  and  wide-spread  confratei-nity  ever  did. 
There  is  an  old  maxim  that  "an  open  countenance  is  a 
letter  of  recommendation;"  and  if  this  be  true,  it  may 
fairly  be  concluded  that  from  a  face  on  which  roguery  is 
written,  it  is  the  duty  of  honest  men  to  fly.  This  piece  of 
advice,  indeed,  I  ventured  to  give  Manasam  when  first  this 
stranger — ^who  certainly  did  not  descend  from  heaven — 
condescended  to  make  one  among  us ;  but  my  remonstrance 
was  wholly  lost  upon  my  friend ;  and  Dom  Balthazar  seemed 
to  have  made  a  firm  footing  among  the  tribe  almost  as  soon 
as  he  appeared.  The  Zingari  are  generally  sober  and 
temperate ;  decent  in  discourse,  and  modest  in  recounting 
their  exploits ;  but  this  new-comer  was  a  swill-pot  and  a 
glutton,  who  never  seemed  satisfied ;  and  if  you  were  to 
believe  his  own  story,  he  had  stormed  every  fort,  succeeded 
in  ^ery  battle,  and  carried  every  woman,  whether  maid, 
irife,  or  widow,  that  he  had  ever  adventured  upon.  If  you 
looked  incredulous,  or  even  doubtful  upon  any  one  of  these 


BDWABD  W0RTLB7  MONTAQU.     215 

golden  legends,  he  swore  so  dreadfully  and  twirled  his 
moustache  with  such  an  overbearing  fierceness,  and  stamped 
his  foot,  and  flashed  so  much  fire,  smoke,  and  fffitid  vapor 
all  about,  that  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quiet,  it  seemed 
better  to  submit,  and  swallow  any  amount  of  lying  and 
braggadocio  than  to  be  dragged  into  a  war  of  words  or 
blows  with  so  redoubtable  an  antagonist,  who  would  proba- 
bly kill  you  first  and  gulp  you  down  afterwards.  I  remem- 
ber the  very  first  visit  he  made  to  us,  as  well  as  if  it  were 
only  yesterday.  He  walked  boldly  up  to  the  chief  tent  of 
our  encampment,  whistling  loudly,  with  a  long  Toledo  trail- 
ing and  clanking  after  him,  a  military  cloak,  which  had 
seen  some  service,  if  one  might  judge  from  its  stains  and 
patches,  a  faded  feather  in  his  hat,  a  pair  of  pistols  in  his 
belt,  a  cigaret  stuck  in  his  mouth,  and  an  easy,  deuce-may- 
care  expression  of  recklessness  about  him  which  took  the 
most  experienced  by  surprise.  One  of  the  fierce  dogs 
which  usually  acted  as  our  sentinels  having  run  out  to  meet 
him,  and  raised  a  desperate  howl — putting  forth  a  hand  of 
iron,  the  new-comer  coolly  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and 
dashing  him  against  the  ground,  left  the  animal  half  dead ; 
muttering  all  the  while,  "  Holy  Jesus  !  What  a  savage 
beast !"  So  unusual  a  prelude  would  have  disconcerted 
most  persons ;  but  Dom  Balthazar  took  no  notice  of  the 
accident,  but  walking  up  to  where  we  all  sat  at  supper,  he 
took  his  seat  uninvited,  stared  down  the  company  when 
they  examined  him  rather  inquiringly,  and  began  to  eat 
away  ravenously  before  we  had  recovered  from  our  sur- 
prise. At  length  the  elder  of  the  feast,  looking  steadfastly 
at  him,  was  about  to  speak,  when  our  self-invited  guest, 
anticipating  his  words,  cried  out — 

"Bah,  Jacomo,  bah!  my  brother,  thou  knowest  me,  and 
I  know  thee.  Let  there  be  no  nonsense  between  us,"  and 
he  whispered  into  his  ear,  and  made  him  a  sign  at  the  same 


216     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

instant,  whereat  the  other  bent  in  reverence,  and  the  new- 
comer continued — 

"Hare,  rabbit,  pheasant,  wild  duck,  fish — in  truth  a 
goodly  show,  and  hungry  I  am  after  many  a  weary  mile 
and  broiling  day  of  travel  and  adventure.  Look  sharp, 
Jacomo,  and  let  me  have  of  the  best,  and  that  speedily;" 
and  then,  without  waiting  for  reply,  he  helped  himself  to 
nearly  half  a  hare,  which  he  flung  in  great  mouthfuls  down 
his  throat,  that,  like  the  wide-expanded  gullet  of  Poly- 
phemus, ever  and  ever  gaped  for  more. 

"Ho!"  said  he,  "Ho!  what  news?  what  news?  Any 
bloodshed  in  these  parts  ?  any  forts  to  be  attacked,  or 
garrisons  to  be  plundered  ?  I  have  just  come  from  Spain, 
my  brothers,  where  the  blessed  little  children  learn  to  stab 
before  they  can  say  the  Ave  Maria,  and  the  highest  feather 
in  the  cap  is  to  draw  the  life-blood  from  the  heart.  This  I 
saw,  my  brothers,  not  a  month  ago  on  the  French  frontier, 
and  a  fine  and  gallant  sight,  my  brothers,  for  a  brave  man's 
eyes  to  witness.  We  were  a  stout  and  bold  party  of  con- 
trabandistas,  and  as  we  crossed  the  mountains,  we  came  up 
with  a  negro  and  a  young  girl,  who  was  a  half-breed,  a 
Creole,  and  faith  a  pretty  brisk  and  lovely  damsel  enough ; 
but  how  she  got  into  the  company  of  this  accursed  son  of 
the  accursed  Ham  was  then  wholly  unknown  to  all  of  us. 
Not  like  your  sly,  mincing  maids  was  she ;  no  prim,  demure, 
perfidious  prude,  with  eyes  half  veiled,  who  seems  so  modest 
that  butter  won't  melt  in  her  mouth ;  mild  as  she-cats  when 
you  and  the  priest  are  looking  on ;  but  when  the  charming 
pusses  are  shut  up  alone  with  their  spouses,  or  wrangling 
with  other  she-cats  for  his  favor,  ye  gods !  how  frightfully 
they  scratch  and  howl,  and  tear,  and  come  to  fisticuffs. 
They  wear  their  petticoats  so  long,  and  slouch  their  bonnets 
80  over  the  face,  that  if  a  Roman  could  come  back  from  hell, 
he'd  fancy  they  were  vestals ;  but  quicklj'  would  he  change 
his  mind,  my  brothers,  if  he  saw  them  in  their  homes,  when 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  217 

the  domino  is  laid  aside,  and  the  female  fiend  steps  forth  in 
all  her  brimstone.  But  this  little  one  looked  indeed  a 
dainty  morsel,  and  was  a  banquet  for  a  prince.  For  her 
eyes  were  full  and  dark,  and  like  the  purple  grapes  that 
glow  beneath  tlie  clustering  vine-leaves;  and  her  ringlets 
were  like  the  deep,  violet-colored  hyacinths,  that  curl  in  a 
thousand  tendrils ;  and  her  foot — ah !  my  sisters,  you  should 
have  seen  that  pretty  foot — twinkling,  glancing,  like  a  firefly 
under  her  scarlet  petticoat — then  would  the  loveliest  here  de- 
clare that  she  had  never  before  seen  in  any  other  woman  a  foot 
and  ankle  in  perfection,  and  confess  that  except  her  own 
there  was  nothing  to  be  compared  to  it  on  earth."  Here  the 
fellow  looked  at  all  the  younger  women,  and  winking,  burst 
into  a  roar  of  hideous  laughter,  which  resounded  through 
the  hills  more^  like  the  growl  of  a  wild  beast  than  any  human 
utterance  of  satisfaction. 

"  Poison,  my  dears,  poison,  is  not  the  merchandise  which 
these  modest  little  ones  buy  from  us  ;  but  lace,  and  trinkets, 
and  a  pair  of  earrings,  or,  mayhap,  a  set  of  gilded  buttons 
for  their  sweethearts.  There  are  she-cats  that  I  could  name 
in  pleasant  France  and  sunny  Italy,  and  tawny-colored 
Spain,  that  if  I  offer  them  gems  or  golden  finery,  will  smirk, 
and  smile,  and  pout,  and  ask  me  in  an  undertone — '  Not 
these,  good  friend,  but  poison — poison  is  the  ware  I  want ;' 
and  so  I  sell  them  poisons  to  their  hearts'  and  livers'  con- 
tent. If  in  days  or  weeks  some  faithless  lover  perishes,  or 
some  too  watchful  father  kicks  the  bucket,  or  some  confid- 
ing husband  is  borne  out  feet  foremost  to  his  ancestral 
grave,  followed  by  a  weeping  spouse,  who  holds  an  onion 
to  her  eyes — why  what  is  that  to  you  or  rae,  my  brothers  ? 
We  do  but  trade  ;  we  are  not  reverend  confessors.  Ah  I  I 
could  many  a  tale  unfold,  of  rich  and  poor,  great  and  mean ; 
but  silent,  sure,  discreet  am  I ;  faithful  to  his  trust  and  all 
his  goodly  customers  is  Dom  Balthazar ;  faithful  also  to 
his  foes,  for  them  he  follows  to  the  death." 


218  EDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAGXI. 

"But  hol  Jacomo,  ho!  let  me  have  that  rabbit  1  and 
hark  ye,  bring  forth  that  jar  of  red  wine,  which  well  I  know 
is  in  the  innermost  corner  of  thy  tent,  for  thirsty  am  I,  my 
brother,  after  many  a  weary  mile  of  broiling  sun,  of  travel 
and  adventure."  As  the  huge  jar  was  brought  forth — for 
his  commands  seemed  to  meet  with  ready  obedience — ^he 
lifted  it  to  his  lips,  and  took  a  hearty  draught,  swallowing 
methought  a  whole  quart  in  a  single  gulp.  Then  attacking 
the  rabbit,  it  began  to  disappear  in  that  capacious  cavern 
which  had  already  engorged  the  greater  part  of  a  whole 
hare,  and  still  seemed  void  enough  to  contain  half  a  dozen 
more. 

"  Well,  my  brothers,  the  little  girl  pleased  our  fancy,  and 
we  thought  it  a  shame  that  this  detested  negro  should  be 
her  sole  companion,  so  we  cast  lots  who  should  take  her 
from  him,  and  the  lot  fell  on  Pedro — thou  didst  know  him 
once,  Jacomo — thou  didst  know  and  love  him,  O  my  brother ! 
but  thou  shalt  never  see  thy  friend  again.  Pedro — glad 
was  he.  He  went  up  to  the  child,  and  with  his  usual  gal- 
lantry requested  her  to  leave  the  negro,  and  take  him  for  her 
companion ;  but  the  little  fool  began  to  cry,  and  she  clung 
to  the  negro,  and  the  knave  declared — I  could  have  stabbed 
him  for  the  lie,  for  was  it  not  a  lie,  my  brothers  ? — that  she 
was  his  master's  only  daughter,  aud  he  was  under  solemn 
bond  and  oath  to  take  her  safely  to  a  certain  convent.  At 
this  we  all  laughed,  and  we  cheered  on  Pedro,  who  nothing 
loth,  seized  the  girl  in  his  arms.  Then  the  negro — curse  on 
him,  my  brothers — rose  up,  and  drawing  a  sharp  dagger, 
which  none  of  us  had  seen,  before  the  quickest  could  cry 
hold !  he  stabbed  our  poor  friend  Pedro  to  the  heart,  and 
instead  of  a  blooming  young  lass,  he  had  only  cold  steel. 
But  ho  1  Jocomo,  ho  I  reach  me  that  pheasant — -in  truth  it 
seems  a  fat  and  comely  bird — and  give  me  again  of  thy  red 
wine,  for  well  the  wine  and  bird  agree  with  one  who  hath 
journeyed   many  a  weary  mile,  and   sweltered   under  the 


BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU,      219 

broiling  sun  of  travel  and  adventure."  Thus  saying,  he 
helped  himself  to  a  whole  pheasant,  of  which  he  seemed  to 
Bwallow  even  the  bones,  for  he  crunched  them  beneath  his 
huge  and  boar-like  tusks,  making  all  the  while  the  most 
horrible  grimaces ;  and  when  the  pheasant  also  had  disap- 
peared, he  again  lifted  the  heavy  jar  to  his  lips,  and  con- 
tinued drinking  until  we  thought  he  should  burst.  Smack- 
ing his  lips,  he  laid  down  the  jar  beside  him,  and  then  re- 
sumed, "  Ho  1  Jacomo,  ho  I — where  was  I  in  my  story  ? 
Let  me  see,  brother — let  me  see,  I  pray  thee.  Aye,  now  I 
remember — our  friend  Pedro  tumbled  dead  down  one  of  the 
precipices,  and  the  negro  looked  after  him  and  laughed,  and 
horrible  it  was,  the  sound  of  that  accursed  wretch's  laugh- 
ter. Then  came  I  up  to  him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear, '  My 
friend,  thou  art  a  dead  man  ;  thou  shalt  never  escape  hence 
with  life  for  this  deed,  for  we  are  all  like  sworn  brothers, 
and  are  bent  on  thy  destruction,  wherefore  I  counsel  thee  to 
blood  and  more  blood.'  When  the  negro  heard  me,  great 
indeed  was  his  rage.  And  now,  my  brothers,  hearken  with 
attention.  For  the  negro  believing  well  that  what  I  said 
was  truth,  and  looking  about  him,  could  see  no  loophole 
for  escape,  so  he  looked  imploringly  at  the  young  girl, 
and  she  at  him,  and  she  said,  '  0,  Domingo,  kill  me  rather,' 
and  we  fearing  that  she  would  thus  escape,  advanced  like 
brave  and  gallant  knights  of  old  to  her  delivery ;  when  just 
as  we  were  near,  this  thrice-accursed  black  fiend  plunged 
his  dagger  into  her  side  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  she  was  in- 
deed dead,  he  turned  upon  us  and  charged  as  if  ten  thou- 
sand devilkins  were  in  his  soul.  Greatly  did  I  rejoice,  my 
brothers,  when  I  saw  this ;  but  not  much  did  I  exult  when 
I  saw  my  loved  companions,  who  were  wholly  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  had  scarcely  time  to  draw  their  faithful  knives 
— when  I  say  I  saw  them  fall  one  by  one,  by  his  detested 
hand ;  until  four  more  as  brave  and  noble  contrabandistas 
as  ever  Spain  sent  forth  were  food  for  dogs  and  birds  upon 


220  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

the  hill.  Now  the  negi'O  seemed  exhausted,  when  we  rushed 
upon  him,  and  with  our  knives  cut  him  into  five  hundred 
pieces,  and  we  gathered  up  all  the  dead,  and  made  a  mighty 
pyre,  and  burned  them  there  that  night ;  and  a  finer  pyre 
was  never  reflected  upon  the  snowy  mountains  than  that 
which  we  raised  then  and  there  in  honor  of  our  slain  com- 
panions. And  now  my  brothers,  did  I  not  say  truly  that  a 
fine  and  gallant  sight  I  saw  upon  the  frontier ;  a  fine  and 
gallant  sight  for  a  brave  man's  eye  to  witness  ?" 

We  were  all  silent  and  horror-stricken.  But  Dom  Bal- 
thazar did  not  notice  our  foolishness ;  but  again  lifting  the 
jar,  he  drained  another  mighty  draught,  and  laid  it  down 
exulting  in  his  strength.  Then  turning  to  the  women,  he 
said,  while  he  fiercely  twisted  his  moustache — 

"  This  tale  have  I  told,  my  sisters,  for  men,  brave  men ; 
but  now,  0  beautiful  ones !  hearken  ye  also,  for  I  will  ex- 
pound rare  wisdom,  and  freely  give  the  wealth  of  long 
experience.  When  married  women  ask  ye  for  their  fate  be 
sure  and  let  the  man  be  far  removed;  whisper  not  into 
their  souls  until  the  sneaking  cully  be  out  of  earshot. 
Then  may  ye  safely  tell  them,  one  and  all,  old  and  j^oung, 
rich  and  poor,  halt  and  blind,  fair  and  frail,  that  they  have 
broken  their  nuptial  promise ;  and  ye  shall  demand  gold, 
and  it  shall  be  given  ye,  as  the  price  of  secrecy.  And 
when  their  husbands  come  and  ask  their  fate  assui'e  them 
that  their  sainted  wives  love  only  them  alone,  and  are 
more  pure  than  the  snows  of  Ararat. 

"  And  next  ye  may  predict  handsome  children ;  and  be 
most  lavish  in  your  prophecies  of  this  kind,  for  they  cost 
ye  nothing,  and  always  give  delight. 

"Next  ye  may  foretell  a  journey,  soon  to  be  undertaken; 
a  letter  to  be  received  which  Avill  convey  pleasant  tidings ; 
and  a  present  on  the  road  which  will  be  gladly  welcomed. 
So  that  if  the  silly  dame  shall  but  go  to  church  on  Sunday, 
or  gets  a  note  containing  nothing  but  '  how  are  you,'  or 


BDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     221 

receives  an  apple  or  an  orange  from  some  fool  as  stupid  as 
herself,  each  and  all  your  prophecies  will  be  fulfilled  ;  and 
you  will  be  thenceforth  regarded  as  sib3is  in  sagacity,  who 
may  demand  gold,  and  spurn  silver  if  presented. 

"But  to  the  single,  every  foolish  speech  sounds  like 
heavenly  wisdom.  Tell  them  that  a  hundred  youths  are 
going  distracted  for  them ;  they  believe  it  all  and  go  away 
in  happiness.  Predict  marriage — marriage  with  the  man 
they  love  most — let  him  be  black  if  the  postulant  be  fair; 
if  she  black  the  husband  must  be  fair,  with  blue  e3es. 
Children,  happiness,  love  in  abundance,  letters  breathing 
fidelity — all  this  is  the  trash  for  them." 

All  this  the  wretch  delivered  in  a  sing-song  voice,  which 
made  me  loathe  him.  There  seemed  such  savage  cruelty 
and  mocking  hate  in  all  he  spoke  that  a  strong  and  fierce 
antipathy  against  him  burst  out  of  mj'  heart.  I  felt  it  like 
volcanic  fire  within  me.  I  could  not  and  I  would  not  con- 
tain it.  We  both  felt  it  at  the  same  moment.  We  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes.  He  hated  me — he  saw  that  I  ab- 
horred him.  There  was  a  murderous  light  in  his  eye,  but 
he  could  not  well  stab  me  unprovoked.  I  knew  he  would 
seek  his  opportunity ;  but  relying  on  myself  and  Fate,  I 
scorned  him. 

"  Ho,  Jacomo,  ho,"  said  he,  "  who  may  this  gallant  be  ? 
Methinks  I  see  not  often  sparks  of  his  quality  among 
the  Gitanos.  One  of  us,  you  would  say.  Yes,  I  see  it  by 
his  well-dyed  skin,  and  hands  that  show  the  walnut  juice. 
No,  Jacomo,  no,  brother,  he  is  not  one  of  our  race — he  is 
not  one  of  the  true  Galore — whatever  he  may  pretend, 
or  however  loudly  he  may  claim  our  royal  blood.  Black 
his  eyes  and  dark  his  hair  may  be,  but  he  has  the  juice  of 
devils  in  him — not  the  blood  of  the  favorite  of  the  gods. 
But  come,  let  us  drink  around.  If  ye  are  well  content,  why 
so  am  I."  Saying  this  he  drained  another  draught,  and 
leered  horribly  at  some  of  the  younger  gypsies.     "  Well 


222     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

thou  knowest,  Jacomo,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  of  all  men 
living  know  the  royal  blood.     I  have  seen  it  bubbling  into 
light — though  it  was  rather  black  and  dirty  blood,  I  own — 
but  was  it  not  of  the  true  royal  stock  ?     Ah  !  Count  Ko- 
ningsmark,  thy  bones  are  rotting  beneath  the  bedchamber 
of  the  pretty  Sophy  of  Halle ;  but  thou  wert  once  a  roaring 
blade,  only  thou  didst  fly  into  the  fire  more  heedlessly  than 
any  moth  that  I  ever  knew.     For  when  our  late  royal 
master,  George  the  First,  (who  is  now  a  black  raven  if  her 
grace  of  Kendal  can  be  believed,)  was  away  in  the  wars, 
and  his  young  wife  was  at  the  old  Elector's  court,  she 
laughed  at  some  of  the  frowsy  queans  who  shared   the 
favors  of  that  gallant  old  booby.     But  it  is  dangerous  play- 
ing with  such  edged  tools  as  court  ladies  be ;  they  are  more 
cruel  than  Ijmxes  when  their  passions  are  aroused.     So 
they  filled  the  doting  old  scoundrel  with  all  sorts  of  tales 
about  his  pretty  daughter-in-law  and  the  gallant  Swede; 
and  he  was  decoyed  one  night  by  a  page  who  came  with  a 
pretended  message  from  the  princess  to  meet  him  in  her 
bed-chamber ;  but  the  little  simpleton  sent  no  such  invita- 
tion ;  and  wlien  he  got  there,  instead  of  a  beautiful  lady, 
he  found  half  a  dozen  grim  Hanoverians,  who  stifled  him 
in  five  minutes,  and  thrust  his  body  into  a  grave  ready  dug 
beneath  the  floor.     And  when  her  valiant  lord  came  back 
from  his  campaign,  the  l^iixes  got  around  him  and  told 
him  all  they  pleased ;  so  the  pretty  fool  was  locked  up  for 
life  in  the  castle  of  Ahlen,  where  she  lived  on  bread  and  water 
for  two-and-thirty  years.     Two-and-thirty  long  years  she 
lingered  there,  until  her  heart  froze  into  ice ;  a  sad  price 
for  a  thoughtless  laugh,  my  brothers ;  a  heavy  penalty  to 
pay,  my  sisters,  for  the  outburst  of  a  young  heart.     But 
this  is  the  way  of  the  world.     Well,  I  was  a  soldier  then — 
on  business  of  Egypt,  0   my  brothers — in  the  grim  old 
barrack,  and  was  on  guard  outside  her  door  just  before  she 
died.     So  I  was  called  in,  and  a  purse  of  gold  was  put  into 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     223 

my  pouch,  and  I  saw  the  dying  woman,  and  she  said, 
*  Gypsy,  for  I  know  you  to  be  such,  I  once  served  your 
people,  and  they  gave  me  this  as  a  token  that  if  ever  I 
should  want  the  aid  of  one  I  should  show  him  this  medal 
and  I  could  command  it.  Now  I  am  in  need  of  a  trusty 
messenger ;  behold  this,  and  if  there  is  faith  in  thj'  people 
swear  that  thou  wilt  obey.'  And  she  showed  me  the  silver 
medal  that  thou  wottest  of,  which  all  our  tribe  are  bound 
to  worship.  Then  I  kissed  the  medal,  and  I  said :  '  Com- 
mand me,  and  I  will  do  it  with  my  life ;'  and  she  looked  at 
me  with  a  djang  look,  and  I  knew  that  she  believed  my 
oath.  So  she  said,  '  Take  this  letter ;  give  it  to  the  King 
of  England.'     And  she  read  it  thus — 

" '  I  am  dying.  In  a  few  hours  I  shall  be  before  God. 
But  I  cite  thee,  George  of  Hanover  and  England,  to  meet 
me  before  the  Judgment  Throne  of  Heaven  within  the 
year ;  and  if  thou  convict  not  me  I  will  convict  thee.  Fail 
not,  for  it  shall  be  a  solemn  trial,  and  may  God  adjudge 
the  guilty  to  eternal  fire  and  torture. 

"'Sophia  Dorothea  of  Halle.' 

"  I  took  the  letter  from  her  hand  and  went  my  way ;  and 
she  died  in  five  minutes.  Right  glad  was  I  to  have  such  a 
message  to  the  old  vagabond.  Da3'S  and  weeks  elapsed,  and 
I  was  detained  still  on  business  of  Egypt,  and  I  could  not 
go  away,  nor  knew  how  I  could  cross  the  seas.  My  oath 
troubled  me,  but  I  knew  I  must  fulfil  it,  though  all  the 
strength  of  hell  should  interpose.  At  length  I  was  free 
from  Ahlen,  and  I  began  my  journey  to  England,  but  sud- 
denly— for  I  had  prayed  to  ten  thousand  fiends  to  aid  me — 
the  news  was  trought  that  George  was  on  his  way  to 
Hanover ;  so  I  struck  out  of  my  path,  and  met  the  royal 
carriage  on  the  road  to  Osnaburg,  and  right  glad  was  I,  for 
now  my  oath  would  be  fulfilled.    And  as  the  heavy  coaoh 


224     EDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

lumbered  along,  with  guards  and  dust  and  noise,  and  all  the 
clatter  that  attends  these  kings,  I  could  see  the  old  villain 
within.  So  I  called  aloud  to  the  coachman — Halt !  and  the 
coachman  was  one  of  us  and  I  made  the  sign,  and  he  halted ; 
and  I  said — '  This  letter  of  importance  is  for  your  Majest}'.' 
The  king  took  it  and  frowned,  for  he  was  enraged  at  the 
stoppage,  and  he  tore  it  open.  But  the  moment  he  read  it 
he  grew  black  in  the  face  and  fell  back ;  his  eyes  and  mouth 
moved  strangely;  his  hands  fell  down  as  if  lifeless;  his 
tongue  hung  half  a  yard  out  of  his  mouth.  I  never  saw  so 
pretty  a  sight  before ;  but  I  knew  now  that  all  was  over  with 
him.  He  died  in  a  few  hours ;  but  how  he  stood  the  terrible 
trial  above,  the  best  historians  of  the  Kings  of  England 
have  not  announced  ;  though  I  suppose  if  he  were  acquitted 
we  should  have  certainly  heard." 

And  now  I  thought  the  wretch  had  done,  but  I  was  mis- 
taken, for  he  suddenly  pulled  off  his  cloak,  and  unbuttoning 
his  jerkin  disclosed  a  shagged  black  breast;  and  tearing  the 
lappels  aside,  he  said — 

"  Ho !  Jacomo,  my  brother,  look  here — ^this  wound  I  got 
in  the  Morisco  land,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  huge  scar  in  which 
you  might  have  hidden  your  forefinger.  Then  he  grinned 
at  me  and  went  on.  "  Thus  it  happed,  my  brothers — thus 
it  came  to  pass,  my  little  sisters  of  Egypt,  pure  gitanas  by 
the  four  sides.  He  and  I  loved  the  same  one — she  was  a 
black  Galore,  and  she  favored  him  more  than  me.  So  I 
watched  them  both  one  night  under  an  old  battlement,  and 
fond  indeed  were  they,  the  unconscious  fools.  Then  I  stood 
before  them  and  laughed,  and  I  seized  her  from  his  arms, 
but  he  rushed  against  me,  and  with  a  great  Manchegan 
knife  inflicted  this  wound,  and  I  fell  and  they  both  grap- 
pled with  me,  and  I  was  well  nigh  death,  my  brothers; 
and  I  thought  never  again  shall  I  go  forth  on  business  of 
Egypt,  and  see  my  brothers  of  the  wood,  and  my  dark- 
eyed  sisters  of  the  forest — pure  Zincali  of  the  four  bloods. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      225 

But  this  thought  gave  me  courage  rather  than  despair; 
and  exerting  all  my  strength,  I  suddenly  flung  them  from  me, 
and  wresting  the  knife  out  of  the  villain's  hand,  I  plunged 
it  in  his  throat,  and  left  the  gipsy  bright  with  her  betrothed. 
But  this  wound,  my  brothers,  laid  me  prostrate  for  many  a 
long  day  afterwards. 

"  Jacomo,  ho  1  what,  my  brother,  and  hast  thou  no  cheese, 
no  delicate  fruits,  no  sweetmeats  after  this  rough  repast  ? 
Bring  forth  that  mighty  orb  of  Cheshire,  and  give  thy  half- 
starved  brother  of  the  best,"  and  strange  to  say  Jacomo 
brought  it ;  and  the  bravo,  cutting  a  slice,  crammed  it  down 
his  throat,  grinning,  laughing,  coughing  all  the  while, 
until  he  seemed  more  like  a  demon  than  a  human  being ; 
and  I  half  expected  to  see  him  seize  the  one  who  sat  next 
him,  and  swallow  him  down  body  and  bones  at  a  single 
gulp.  For  this  feat,  however,  he  was  probably  too  full,  and 
the  adventure  seemed  only  deferred.  Now  for  the  sixth 
time  he  lifted  up  the  jar,  no  longer  heavy  as  it  had  been, 
but  easily  wielded,  and  containing  but  a  small  modicum  for 
so  accomplished  a  drinker  as  this  new  friend  of  ours  proved 
to  be.  He  raised  it,  and  in  a  trice,  we  saw  the  bottom  up- 
turned to  the  skies.  The  whole  jar  had  been  drained  to  the 
dregs — the  mighty  stomach  was  at  length  appeased.  Then 
tossing  it  from  him  with  a  disdainful  oath,  the  fellow  looked 
again  at  me,  and  said,  "  Thou  of  the  true  Galore  I  thou,  a 
son  of  devils.  But  I  will  soon  ferret  thee  out ;  soon  will  I 
end  this  mumming."  He  shook  his  fist,  he  grinned  again 
most  horribly ;  he  half  rose  up  as  if  to  strike  me — probably 
he  would  have  done  so  if  he  came  near ;  for  no  one  inter- 
fered ;  all  seemed  awe-stricken  ;  but  the  effort  was  too  much 
for  the  swollen  drunkard,  and  he  fell  helpless  on  the  grass. 


226     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Ah !  those  were  wild  days.  I  recall  them  now  as  one  re- 
calls the  memory  of  some  feverish  dream.  You  are  lying 
in  your  bed,  in  the  cool  vesper  hour ;  the  soft  evening  sun- 
light gently  streams  in  upon  your  chamber ;  the  breath  of 
flowers  is  wafted  from  the  trellis  beneath  ;  the  sweet  chirp 
of  the  birds  is  heard,  as  they  hop  among  the  tree  branches 
that  overshadow  your  bedroom  window ;  you  raise  yourself 
up  occasionally  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  azure  heaven  out- 
side, and  you  see  the  silver  clouds  travel  over  the  blue  hills, 
or  the  distant  sea,  orange-colored  in  the  descending  sun- 
light. You  think  how  happy  they  must  be  who  can  wan- 
der about  in  that  open  Paradise,  like  the  birds,  or  sail  over 
that  celestial  sea,  with  sharply  cutting  keel,  and  bellying  fore- 
sail, or  mount  those  happy  hills  with  gay  elastic  footstep. 
You  contrast  your  own  pale,  weak,  nerveless  limbs,  with 
those  which  you  assign  in  fancy  to  the  wanderers  outside, 
and  you  are  unhappy.  After  many  a  hard  struggle  with 
these  purple  thoughts,  you  sink  into  an  uneasy  slumber, 
and  you  are  a  corsair  battling  with  a  desperate  foe,  on  an 
ensanguined  ocean  ;  or  a  general  urging  on  your  wild  and 
fire-eyed  followers  into  an  opposing  camp,  and  yourself 
proudly  bearing  aloft  a  banner,  or  a  sword,  on  which  vic- 
tory is  seated ;  or  you  are  a  toiling  traveller  mounting  up 
hill  after  hill,  until  you  sigh  sorely  for  the  glorious  summit, 
which  is  to  reveal  to  you  some  splendid  glimpse  of  seas  or 
lands  unknown,  and  to  herald  in  the  day  which  is  to  crown 
your  name  with  the  splendid  diadem  of  immortality. 

Suddenly  you  are  hurled  from  the  midst  of  all  these 
bright  and  shining  scenes  into  utter  darkness  ;  you  are 
flung  into  the  Tartarus  of  Hell.  Now  it  is  an  iceberg  bear- 
ing down  upon  you,  big  and  black  with  fate,  and  crushing 
yourself,  your  galley,  and  your  horror-stricken  crew  into 


BDWABD  WOETLEY  MONTAGU.      227 

the  abyss  of  boiling  waters,  while  ten  thousand  blue  sharks 
leap  upon  you,  and  tear  you  into  as  many -pieces.  Now  it 
is  a  thunderstorm,  a  very  simoom  that,  ere  you  are  aware, 
folds  you  in  its  black  wings,  and  in  a  moment,  camp  and 
foeman  disappear,  and  you  and  yours  collapse  into  baneful 
death,  and  all  is  silence  and  despair.  Now  it  is  a  fierce, 
volcanic  fire  that  shatters  the  mountain;  at  your  feet  a 
fearful  crater  yawns ;  a  crater  filled  with  fire  and  poison, 
and  in  an  instant  you  are  devoured  with  all  your  brilliant 
hopes,  and  nothing  remains  but  a  swollen  corpse  upon  a 
barren  mound  of  ashes.  0  reader,  if  thou  hast  felt  and 
experienced  these  things,  know  that  those  dreams  of  the 
past  are  like  unto  them.  If  thou  art  young,  as  I  once  was, 
be  happy  while  you  may,  and  strive  to  make  the  best  of 
that  enchanted  period ;  and  if  thou  art  old,  as  I,  alas !  now 
am,  then  seek  to  stifle  all  remembrance  of  them,  for  bitterly 
will  they  contrast  with  that  which  now  thou  dost  experience. 
Ah,  me !  thine  eye  is  dim ;  thy  hand  shakes,  thj^  limbs  are 
not  the  steel-cased  limbs  they  were  of  yore ;  thy  blood  is 
cold  and  sluggish,  and  thy  thoughts  are  dull  and  dreamless. 
What  remains  for  thee  and  me,  but  Lethe — the  oblivion  of 
the  dark  and  silent  stream  ?  For  memory  but  enhances 
present  misery.  We  are  like  the  sleeper,  who  dreamed  he 
dwelled  in  gardens,  and  waked  and  found  himself  on  a  dung- 
heap,  and  was  unhappy — as  how  could  he  be  otherwise  ! 

Akiba  had  taken  a  strange  fancy  to  me.  He  was  never 
tired  of  showing  me  new  sights,  or  introducing  me  into  new 
scenes.     One  evening  as  we  were  parting,  he  said — 

"  Zala-Mayna,  you  must  set  out  with  us  to-morrow.  We 
are  going  to  Norwood  to  see  Margaret  Finch,  the  Gypsy 
Queen.  Our  tribe  have  business  with  her."  He  said  no 
more,  but  I  knew  that  I  should  go. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  were  all  astir;  horses  were 
saddled ;  packs  were  opened  and  filled ;  the  dukes,  counts 
and  knights  of  our  encampment  equipped  themselves  in 


228  EDWAED     WORT  LEY     MONTAGU. 

t 

their  best  attire,  and  we  formed  a  brilliant  cavalcade.  We 
rode  hard  all  that  day,  and  at  night  slept  in  a  fine  planta- 
tion, more  than  midway;  the  next  day  saw  us  in  the 
midst  of  the  Norwood  camp,  then  the  largest  in  England. 
Great  was  the  joy  with  which  we  were  received.  The  Zin- 
gari,  young  and  old,  gathered  around  us  with  a  hearty  wel- 
come. Their  tents  were  pitched  amid  the  old  forest  trees ; 
and  beautiful  was  the  carpet  which  the  old  forest  turf 
spread  beneath  their  feet.  Scarlet  and  blue  cloaks  flashed 
around  the  green,  with  a  picturesque  effect,  on  which  a 
painter's  eye  would  have  lingered  with  rapture ;  it  was  a 
scene  for  Salvator  Rosa.  Had  he  been  alive,  he  might 
have  left  the  bandits  among  whom,  it  is  said,  he  loved  to 
sojourn,  that  he  might  study  the  wild  and  beautiful,  and 
pitched  his  canvas  under  the  auspices  of  old  Mother  Finch, 
who  was  herself  not  the  least  remarkable  of  her  tribe.  For 
she  was  bent  almost  double  with  years; — her  age,  indeed, 
was  more  than  a  hundred;  and  with  her  red  cloak  and 
hood,  her  shining  black  eyes,  and  aquiline  nose,  the  deep, 
shrewd,  thoughtful,  yet  cunning  expression  of  her  mouth, 
such  as  I  have  seen  in  some  of  the  Indian  princes,  and  the 
incessant  pipe  which  she  puffed,  under  the  shadow  of  a 
venerable  oak  tree,  she  presented  all  the  appearances  of  the 
wild  and  picturesque,  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  most  fastid- 
ious artist. 

Into  the  secret  conclave  which  was  held,  I  was  not,  of 
course,  permitted  to  enter.  Of  our  tribe,  onl}'  Akiba,  Man- 
asam,  and  the  old  gypsy  Jacomo,  were  taken  into  counsel ; 
the  rest  seemed  bent  on  enjoyment,  and  they  indulged 
themselves  to  the  full.  And  quick  and  pleasant  were  the 
hours.  Robin  Hood  in  merry  Sherwood  was  not  more 
free,  more  independent,  or  more  happy.  How  delightful 
were  those  vagabond  days  and  nights  1  indolent  as  sloths 
we  seemed,  but  the  mere  sensation  that  we  lived  was  in  it- 
self a  rapture ;  for  we  were  all  in  perfect  health,  and  when 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     229 

the  stomach  is  good,  and  the  skin  clear,  when  the  blood 
circulates  freely,  and  the  sun  shines,  what  is  like  existence  ? 
I  have  lived  since  then  in  courts  and  drawing-rooms  and 
palaces,  and  tasted  all  that  is  delicious  in  the  jewelled  cups 
of  pomp  and  pride,  but  give  me  one  hour  of  the  past  when 
I  was  a  boy,  and  a  gypsy,  and  for  such  an  hour  would  I 
barter  a  whole  year  of  fine  and  fashionable  vegetation. 
Young  and  old,  we  all  seemed  to  have  but  one  aim  and 
object,  and  that  was  happiness.  We  lay  upon  the  velvet 
sward,  soft  and  warm  in  the  sunlight,  or  under  the  spread- 
ing boughs  of  ancient  trees,  which  might  have  sheltered 
the  Druids,  or  the  centurions  of  the  Romans ;  the  younger 
ones  of  the  male  gypsies  sang  and  played  for  us,  while  the 
females  danced  and  chanted  like  the  wild  Almas  of  the 
Oriental  Princes.  Here,  as  among  us,  but  on  a  larger 
scale,  were  seen  artizans  of  all  the  trades  which  the  Zin- 
gari  follow;  tinkers,  horn  spoon  makers,  potters,  besom 
binders,  net  weavers,  hop  pickers,  horse  dealers,  coiners,  (I 
fear,)  chain  and  basket  weavers,  bird  catchers,  and  the 
dark  eyed  archimages,  male  and  female,  skilled  in  palm- 
istry, and  in  deciphering  the  mystic  tablets  of  the  Future. 
And  here  amid  many  a  wild  tradition,  I  heard  first  of 
Hather,  the  first  King,  and  Calot,  the  first  Queen  of  the 
English  gypsies ;  and  of  the  dark,  mysterious  sovereign 
Zandahlo,  of  whose  marvels  so  many  of  their  legends  are 
full. 

"  A  great  king  was  Zandahlo,"  said  one  of  the  elder 
gypsies  to  us,  as  we  sat  beneath  the  stars ;  "  there  are  no 
such  kings  now,  my  brother — no,  no ;  they  are  all  departed 
— the}'^  perished  in  the  flood  of  waters.  For  he  was  tall  as 
any  tree,  and  his  eyes  were  bright  like  the  star  Aldebaran, 
and  his  long  hairs  were  like  the  spreading  branches  of  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon ;  you  might  shield  yourself  from  sun 
and  tempest  beneath  his  royal  shadow.  But  he  is  gone, 
my  brother,  and  with  him  sank  the  glory  of  the  Galore — 
15 


230     EDWAED  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

the  true  sons  of  the  Gods  of  Fire.  Once  upon  a  time,  long, 
long  ago,  when  the  true  Galore  were  the  lords  of  the  earth, 
and  King  Zandahlo  was  the  master  of  the  world,  and  there 
were  no  pale  faces,  or  pale  eyes  among  the  Children  of 
Fire,  then  indeed  it  came  to  pass  that  King  Zandahlo 
walked  amid  his  gardens — his  gardens  that  were  the  won- 
der of  all  men.  And  as  King  Zandahlo  walked  amid  his 
gardens,  behold  he  saw  two  Angels  descend  from  heaven, 
and  they  disported  themselves  in  a  fountain  of  cr^^stal 
waters,  and  the  sun  shone  upon  them,  and  their  white 
wings  flashing  more  beautifully  than  silver  in  the  sparkling 
waters,  dazzled  the  eye ;  but  their  resplendent  forms  were 
stUl  more  bright  and  lovely,  and  King  Zandahlo  looked 
and  fell  in  love  with  these  Celestial  Ones.  And  it  came  to 
pass,  0  brother,  that  King  Zandahlo  did  accost  these  fair 
spirits ;  and  the  beauty  of  the  King  was  pleasant  to  their 
eyes,  and  they  abided  near  the  fountain,  and  loved  King 
Zandahlo,  and  told  him  certain  magical  secrets  of  the 
flashing  spheres  of  fire,  and  cloud,  and  water,  such  as  no 
man  ever  knew  before,  nor  was  any  one  among  mankind 
worthy  that  he  should  know  them,  but  King  Zandahlo 
himself.  And  the  mystic  measures  of  the  moon,  and  the 
magnetic  essence  of  the  stars,  and  the  chain  of  sj'mpathy 
that  runs  through  all  existences,  and  the  force  of  the 
Monad,  the  Duad,  the  Triad,  and  the  Tetractys;  all  these 
the  heavenly  ones  revealed  to  our  noble  King  Zandahlo. 

"  It  came  to  pass  that  on  a  certain  night,  when  all  the 
purple  arch  was  burnished  with  stars,  and  the  heaven 
seemed  one  shining  mass  of  burning  fires,  as  if  all  the 
angels  were  assembling  before  the  Throne  of  the  Unnamed 
One,  King  Zandahlo  also  was  in  his  garden,  and  he  heark- 
ened to  mystic  secrets  of  the  fair  spirits.  He  said  unto 
them,  '  O  spirits,  will  ye  not  uplift  me  into  heaven,  that  I 
may  see  some  of  these  things  V  But  the  spirits  answered, 
*Nay,  it  is  forbidden!'    King  Zandahlo  besought  them,  and 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     231 

yet  again  besought  them,  but  they  would  not.  They  strove 
to  comfort  him,  but  King  Zandahlo  would  not  be  comforted, 
but  still  he  looked  upward  into  the  blue  and  beaming  arch, 
and  he  entreated  them, '  0  spirits,  will  ye  not  uplift  me 
unto  heaven,  that  I  may  see  some  of  these  things?'  And 
the  spirits  wept,  but  they  would  not ;  so  King  Zandahlo 
rose  up  in  rage,  and  he  cried  out, '  Begone,  deceitful  spirits! 
begone !  nor  trouble  me  any  longer.  Behold,  ye  are  of  the 
tribe  of  the  faithless  ones.'  The  spirits  wept;  but  they  left 
King  Zandahlo,  though  they  often  looked  back  upon  him 
as  they  faded  away.  It  was  deep  night,  and  King  Zandahlo 
was  alone,  and  he  was  sore  grieved  in  his  spirit,  and  he 
had  repented  him  of  what  he  had  done ;  and  he  called  unto 
the  spirits  to  comfort  him,  but  they  came  not.  It  was  now 
dark  midnight,  and  he  still  lingered  by  the  fountain,  and 
was  unhappy.  And  he  heard  a  voice  saying,  '  0  King, 
why  art  thou  unhappy  ?'  King  Zandahlo  turned  him  to- 
wards the  place  from  which  the  voice  came,  and  behold  he 
saw  a  Spirit  shining  also  like  the  fair  spirits  in  outer  sem- 
blance ;  but  he  marked  not  the  dark  drao  in  his  deep  eyes, 
nor  the  snake  that  was  hidden  in  his  tongue.  Neither  did 
he  note  that  the  voice  of  this  Spirit  was  sharp,  harsh,  and 
hollow — unlike  the  melodious  voices  in  which  the  fair 
spirits  spake.  So  King  Zandahlo  told  the  Spirit  why  he 
was  unhappy,  and  he  said  unto  him,  '  Thou,  0  Spirit,  canst 
thou  uplift  me  into  Heaven,  that  I  may  see  some  of  these 
things  ?'  And  the  Spirit  answered,  '  This  will  I  do  for 
thee,  0  King.'  And  he  raised  him  in  his  arms,  and  he 
bare  him  aloft  into  a  splendid  place — and  it  seemed  a  palace 
of  the  finest  art,  and  King  Zandahlo  looked  upon  the  pal- 
ace, and  he  said  unto  his  heart,  '  Never  knew  I  any  thing 
until  this  day.'  And  when  the  Spirit  had  shown  him  the 
palace,  he  took  him  into  the  gardens  of  the  palace,  and 
pointed  out  to  him  the  manifold  appearances  of  beauty. 
King  Zandahlo  again  said,  '  Never  knew  I  any  thing  until 


232  EDWARD     WOETLET     MOSTTAQU. 

this  day.'  The  Spirit  brought  him  back  into  his  own  pal- 
ace, and  left  him.  King  Zandahlo  was  unhappy  because 
he  could  not  own  that  mighty  palace  and  those  splendid 
gardens.  He  grew  thin  and  refused  food,  and  was  well 
nigh  come  unto  death.  And  the  Spirit  came  unto  him  and 
said,  '  Rise  up !  be  bold  and  strong,  and  make  thy  people 
build  for  thee  a  palace  like  unto  that  palace,  and  gardens 
like  unto  those  gardens.'  King  Zandahlo  rose  up,  as  the 
Spirit  had  commanded  him,  and  he  sent  foi'th  his  edicts, 
and  he  summoned  all  his  people,  and  compelled  all  his 
artificers  to  come  in  and  build  a  new  palace  and  new  gar- 
dens. When  they  were  completed,  and  a  million  men  had 
perished,  the  sea  broke  in  and  swept  them  all  away  in  one 
night,  and  in  their  mire  was  King  Zandahlo  buried.  And 
over  the  deluge  of  waters  there  was  seen  a  dark  spirit 
brooding,  and  the  spirit  cried  aloud  before  all  the  people, 
'This  is  the  reward  of  folly  and  discontent.  Zandahlo 
might  have  been  the  happiest  of  men  had  he  not  emulated 
the  Palace  of  the  Gods ;  and  lo,  where  is  he  ?'  " 

A  week  thus  passed — a  pleasant  week  of  free  agrestic 
sports.  I  might  have  easily  attached  myself  to  one  of  the 
franksome  young  gypsies  who  were  about  me,  and  who  put 
forth  many  a  lure,  but  my  heart  was  unalterably  wedded 
to  Francesca ;  and  I  looked  upon  the  glittering  bevy  of 
dark-eyed  singers  and  dancers  with  no  more  passion  than 
I  should  have  gazed  upon  a  picture  by  the  hand  of  Rubens. 
At  the  end  of  this  period  Dom  Balthazar  appeared,  greatly 
to  my  disgust  and  disappointment.  I  could  not  imagine 
what  had  brought  the  fellow  hither,  but  he  boldly  entered 
the  Queen's  presence,  and  whenever  he  pleased  went  into 
her  tent,  as  if  he  were  a  privileged  person,  and  indeed  he 
was  so  without  any  question.  He  seemed  well  known  to 
all  the  noisy  crowd,  and  he  strutted  and  swaggered  among 
them  like  a  cock  upon  a  dunghill,  just  as  he  had  done 
among  our  quiet  little  community  in  Sussex,  being  ever  the 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     233 

loudest,  noisiest,  and  most  gluttonous.  Akiba  and  Mana- 
sam  did  not  much  associate  with  him ;  there  was  an  utter 
disparity  in  their  tastes  and  habits ;  and  the  years  of  the 
elder  man  made  him  as  indisposed  to  mingle  in  such  rude 
revelry,  as  always  followed  wherever  Dom  Balthazar  was 
present,  as  the  silent  student  habits  of  Manasam  kept  him 
aloof  from  the  bacchanalian  roystering  in  which  our  new 
companion  delighted  to  indulge.  But  Dom  Balthazar 
heeded,  or  appeared  not  to  heed  in  the  least,  the  feelings 
of  either.  He  followed  his  own  course  as  if  no  such  person 
existed,  and  set  the  whole  assembly  in  a  bacchanalian  mood. 
Before  he  came,  we  were  like  peaceful  foresters,  disporting 
in  holiday  after  some  long-continued  labor;  our  amuse- 
ments were  simple  and  rustic ;  we  pleased  ourselves  with 
country  sports  and  country  sobriety ;  but  Dom  Balthazar 
turned  all  things  topsy  turvy.  Midnight  excursions  were 
made  into  many  a  choice  preserve ;  and  at  the  dawn  he  re- 
turned with  his  wearied  followers  laden  with  spoil — hares, 
rabbits,  pheasants,  fawns,  peacocks,  salmon,  swans,  and 
even  herons.  Then  the  fires  were  lighted,  fresh  casks  or 
jars  were  broached,  and  tipsy  jollity  and  feasting  followed, 
worthy  of  a  city  banquet  or  an  election  dinner. 

Perhaps  these  revels  were  more  in  accordance  with  the 
rude  nature  of  the  gypsies  themselves,  than  the  more  staid 
and  sober  pleasures  in  which  we  had  previously  sought 
and  found  content.  At  all  events  I  have  always  observed 
that  men  generally  will  find  amusement  in  simple  sports, 
and  unless  some  incident  intervenes  to  arrest  them,  will  go 
on  to  the  end  as  they  began.  But  let  some  knavish,  disso- 
lute scoundrel  interpose,  and  by  word  or  example  lead 
them  into  other  and  worse  enjoyments;  let  him  propose 
something  desperately  foolish,  wild,  or  wicked,  and  there 
is  such  a  contagion  in  vice  that  it  will  suddenly  seize  every 
one  of  them,  as  if  by  a  spell  of  magic ;  and  they  who  five 
minutes  siace  played  with  all  the  simple  zest  of  boys,  will 


234     BDWABD  WORTLET  MONTAOU. 

suddenly  rage  as  if  impelled  by  the  fiery  nature  of  demons. 
There  is  a  natural  devil-may-care  spirit  about  multitudes 
which  drives  them  in  a  m  ment  into  the  wildest  and  most 
unthought  of  excesses  ;  and  I  have  often  felt  convinced  that 
no  men  were  more  astonished  at  themselves  next  morning 
than  those  who  have  figured  prominently  in  history,  in 
outbreaks  that  have  had  the  greatest  influence  on  times 
and  empires.  Thus  has  it  ever  been,  and  thus  I  suppose 
it  ever  will  be.  A  single  word  applied  at  the  fitting  mo- 
ment, like  a  spark  of  gunpowder,  will  produce  an  explosion, 
with  whose  echo  the  world  will  ring  until  the  annals  of  the 
world  be  no  more. 

Nor  was  oi\r  little  kingdom  exempt  from  this  feeling. 
Dom  Balthazar,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  delighted  in  vi- 
ciousness  for  its  own  sake ;  his  example  stirred  up  others ; 
and  as  there  were  many  among  us  who  I  have  no  doubt 
deserved  death  a  hundred  times,  if  such  could  be  inflicted, 
men  and  women  were  now  found  to  boast  of  exploits,  and 
give  revelations  of  their  inner  life  which  they  would  not 
have  dared  to  confess  a  few  days  before ;  and  which  if  they 
had  been  confessed,  would  have  been  heard  with  a  feeling 
very  different  from  that  which  now  awaited  them. 

"  Ho,  ho !  Meg  Finch,"  he  cried,  "  ho  ho  1  Meg,  my 
Queen,  my  beaut},  my  bright  and  splendid  star  of  Venus, 
verily  thou  hast  a  goodly  crew  of  men  and  women ;  and 
some  I  think  would  take  the  devil  by  the  horns,  nor  would 
my  pretty  lasses  fear  to  catch  him  by  the  tail ;  but  brave 
and  gallant  though  they  be,  they  equal  not  in  gorgeous 
devilry  the  fine  Galore  of  Granada  and  its  mountains, 
whom  I  left  some  moons  ago,  and  whom  I  hope  speedily  to 
meet  again.  One  fellow  have  we  among  us — by  heaven  he 
is  a  trump  card,  and  I  woiild  not  give  his  little  finger  for 
the  souls  or  bodies  of  all  the  kings,  queens,  and  popes 
(male  or  female)  in  Christendom.  Why  what  think  ye  he 
did  ? — ^fill  ye  bumpers  to  his  health,  my  brothers,  and  then 


EDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     235 

ye  shall  hear — fill  ye  purple  bumpers  to  his  welfare,  ray 
sisters,  and  then  shall  your  ears  be  gladdened  by  tidings 
of  a  brave  and  gallant  man.  He  was  a  monk — nay,  shrink 
not — for  though  in  cowl  and  cassock,  and  with  a  shaven 
pate,  a  true  son  of  Egypt  was  he — no  truer  lives  in  whom 
the  red  blood  does  roll.  From  the  hill  he  came — but  my 
lord  abbot  knew  it  not,  so  he  was  enrolled  a  monk ;  and 
would,  had  he  lived,  been  prior  and  perhaps  cardinal,  if  not 
Holy  Father  of  the  Faithful;  but  the  monks  offended  him, 
and  as  he  had  the  molten,  fiery  blood  of  all  the  true  Galore, 
he  answered  roundly,  and  gave  the  lazy  scoundrels  tit  for 
tat.  Tit  for  tat  is  not  in  convent  laws ;  so  they  shut  him 
up  in  a  cell,  and  exhorted  him  to  patience,  and  let  him  fast 
on  dry  bread  and  cold  water  for  three  weary  months,  until 
my  brother  was  well  nigh  dead.  Well,  at  the  end  of  that 
time  he  vowed  repentance,  and  confessed  his  sins,  and  was 
released ;  and  when  the  next  feast  was  held,*  he  prayed  hard 
to  be  allowed  to  serve  the  wine  to  all  his  kind,  good,  par- 
doning brethren.  So  the  holy  men  consented,  and  my 
brother  fetched  the  wine  from  the  cellars  in  many  a  brim- 
ming flagon;  and  when  the  morning  stars  arose  in  heaven, 
there  were  forty  monks  lying  dead  beneath  the  festal  table, 
and  the  goodly  abbot  at  their  head.  The  matter  was  in- 
quired into,  and  my  brother  wept  indeed  in  true  sorrow  for 
the  departure  of  all  his  pious  comrades;  and  when  the 
hogshead  was  examined  behold  a  vijjer  of  the  most  poison- 
ous quality  was  found  in  the  bottom  of  the  cask,  dead  and 
swollen ;  but  how  it  entered  no  man  ever  knew  So  my 
brother  was  acquitted  from  all  blame;  but  he  soon  after 
joined  our  sacred  band,  for  he  had  heard  that  the  Holy 
Inquisitors  liked  not  much  the  manner  of  his  acquittal, 
and  were  preparing  for  him  a  charge  of  heresy,  which 
would  have  ravished  him  from  us  forever.  So  he  fied  to 
us,  and  now  he  is  one  of  our  firmest,  fastest  friends ;  and 
he  often  laughs  when  he  recounts  the  story  of  the  forty 


2S6  EDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

dead  and  swollen  rats — I  mean  monks — on  the  marble 
pavement ;  and  he  bids  them  God-speed,  and  he  drains  his 
flagon  to  their  memory.  So  now,  my  brothers,  and  ye 
also,  my  sisters  dear,  a  bumper,  a  bumper,  and  yet  another 
flowing  bumper  to  the  health  of  the  ex-monk  of  Cordova. 

••My  brother  went  Into  the  wood, 
His  heart  athirst  for  monkish  blood ; 

My  brother  songht  a  vlj^r's  nest^ 
He  hid  the  viper  in  his  breast. 

He  charmed  the  pretty  poisoned  elf 
By  secrets  known  best  to  himself; 

He  put  the  riper  in  the  cask, 

And  grinned  beneath  his  pipns  mask. 

'Ho,  ho,'  quoth  he,  'these  knaves  shall  find 
That  gypsy  skill  their  eyes  shall  blind.' 

They  drunk  the  vij)er  wine,  and  woke 
In  fire  of  hell  when  morning  broke." 

Whether  there  were  any  internal  shudders  at  this  recital 
I  cannot  say ;  I  only  know  there  would  have  been  a  week 
before ;  but  Dom  Balthazar  seemed  to  magnetize  all  by  his 
own  evil  nature.     And  after  a  pause  he  continued — 

*'  And  now,  my  brothers,  hearken  ye  unto  me,  and  I  wiU 
reveal  the  Ten  Commandments  of  Gypsy  dom,  which  whoso 
followeth  he  shall  grow  rich  and  happy ;  but  he  who  fol- 
loweth  them  not  shall  be  as  a  church  mouse — lean,  scraggy, 
and  a  coward. 

"  First — All  charity  is  humbug  and  pretence.  No  man 
would  give  a  farthing  to  another  did  he  not  hope  to  gain 
something  for  himself  by  it ;  but  the  great  source  of  the 
thing  is  to  be  found  in  the  vaingloriousness  of  men  and 
women  who  love  to  appear  better  than  they  really  are. 
Wherefore,  when  thou  beggest  an  alms,  always  seek  it  where 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together,  for  shame  or  vanity 
wiU  get  thee  something. 

"  Second — It  is  in  vain  to  ask  a  charity  from  a  wedded 
pair,  for  they  know  each  other  too  well — the  humbug  mask 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     237 

is  off,  and  so  they  will  give  you  nothing  ;  but  from  a  poor 
man  sneaking  attendance  on  a  rich  one,  seek  it,  or  from  a 
lover,  dangling,  like  a  hungry  dog,  after  his  mistress.  For 
these  suitors  always  love  to  appear  other  than  they  really 
are ;  and  they  who  would  not  give  thee  a  maravedi  to  save 
thy  soul  from  damnation,  will  give  it  that  they  may  get  a 
smile  from  the  patron,  or  a  kiss  from  the  flirting  quean. 

"  Third — If  there  be  any  man  of  good  estate  in  the  neigh- 
borhood who  hath  lost  a  favorite  child,  go  to  him,  attired 
in  robes  of  woe,  and  tell  him — as  if  thou  wert  ignorant  of 
his  misfortune — ^that  thou  hast  lost  a  blind  boy  or  girl,  and 
make  the  resemblance  of  thy  fancied  loss  as  like  to  his  as 
possible.  Then  with  many  a  sigh  and  tear,  and  supplica- 
tion, cant  to  the  feeling  booby,  until  he  melts  and  well 
rewards  thee  for  thy  pains. 

"  Fourth — If  any  tender  fool  hath  a  husband  sick,  accost 
her  as  she  walks  the  streets,  and  say  thou  prayest  hard  for 
his  recovery,  and  add  that  Heaven  hearkeneth  to  the  poor 
man's  prayer ;  but  if  the  wife  be  very  young  and  the  hus- 
band very  old,  pretend  not  that  thou  knowest  of  my  lord's 
illness,  but  say  to  her — '  God  grant  thee,  beauteous  lady,  a 
young  and  bouncing  husband.' 

"  Fifth — But  if  the  husband  dies,  then  let  your  wife  or 
sister  go  unto  the  widowed  dame,  and,  dressed  in  sable 
weeds,  recount  a  loss  which  she  herself  has  first  ex- 
perienced, pretending  that  a  husband  has  been  snatched 
from  her  by  untimely  death,  and  weeping  hard  until  the 
rich  one  sighs  in  sympathy,  and  gives  thee  of  her  purse, 
without  at  all  considering  whether  thy  tale  be  true  or  not. 

"  Sixth — But  most  of  all  rely  on  wives  or  widows  with 
small  children ;  for  if  thou  goest  unto  these  with  a  pitiful 
tale  of  thine  own  seven  starving  babes,  without  food  or 
raiment,  or  a  roof,  never  yet  knew  I  the  one  who  could 
resist,  or  who  did  not  weep  in  heart  over  the  dismal  fate  of 
those  Iielpless  ones. 


238  EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAQTT. 

"  Seventh — The  dandy  loves  to  hear  his  person  praised ; 
the  dainty  dame  to  hear  her  eyes  and  fair  complexion  ex- 
tolled ;  the  strutting  mamma  is  pleased  to  learn  that  no 
one's  children  equal  hers  in  beauty ;  the  military  monkey 
thinks  himself  a  Charles  XII.,  and  'noble  captain'  will 
draw  forth  his  purse,  particularly  if  thou  celeb ratest  his 
bravery  in  the  presence  of  some  woman  just  as  brainless 
as  himself ;  and  so  the  priest  is  glad  when  thou  speakest  of 
his  piety ;  but  I  hardly  counsel  thee  to  beg  of  such,  for  they 
dread  to  part  with  even  a  half-farthing. 

"  Eighth — If  a  pretty  woman  pass  thee  by  and  looks 
dejected,  be  sure  her  husband  or  her  lover  is  unkind,  and 
soap  thy  tongue  accordingly. 

"Ninth — The  ugliest  woman  thinks  herself  a  beauty,  un- 
less she  has  a  large  and  broad  forehead,  and  then  mayhap 
she  despises  outward  charms ;  but  in  mind  she  thinks  her- 
self a  Plato  or  a  Dante,  and  therefore  praise  her  as  thou 
wilt,  she  never  will  be  satisfied  with  the  feast. 

"  Tenth — But  this,  the  tenth  commandment,  is  the  crown- 
ing one.  If  ever  thou  seest  a  tender  husband  with  a  preg- 
nant wife,  take  with  thee  one  who  is  blind  or  halt,  and 
press  him  with  thy  prayers  for  alms.  Fear  will  extort 
them  amply ;  and  thou  and  thy  companion  shall  exult  at 
having  terrified  the  fool  out  of  gold  or  silver." 

Let  me  drop  this  hateful  fellow ;  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  him.  I  only  lament  there  should  be  so  many  of  his 
odious  type  on  earth. 

Another  week  passed,  and  we  had  completed  the  pur- 
pose for  which  we  came.  Akiba,  Giacomo,  and  Manasara 
gave  the  word,  and  all  was  ready  for  departure.  We  had 
a  glorious  parting  feast  by  moonlight ;  the  stars  were  also 
in  the  heaven,  and  we  needed  not  lamp  or  watch-fire,  for  it 
was  in  the  delicious  month  of  August,  when  all  is  balm  and 
beautifulness. 

"My  brothers,"  said  Akiba,  "I  go  from  among  you. 


BDW.ABD     WOETLBY     MONTAGU.  239 

Never  again  shall  we  meet  on  earth.  My  sands  of  life  are 
nearly  run ;  I  and  your  Queen  are  the  two  oldest  of  the 
tribes  that  now  exist  in  England.  We  cannot  hope  that 
we  shall  look  into  each  other's  ej'^es  after  this  night ;  but 
such  is  the  way  of  human  beings.  Let  me  exhort  each 
and  all  to  be  true  as  steel  to  their  native  tents  and  to  one 
another — thus  only  can  they  prevail  against  the  common 
enemy." 

"  Thou  speakest  wisely,  0  Bazecgur,"  answered  one  of 
the  most  aged  and  venerable  of  the  Norwood  companions. 
"  Hearken  unto  it,  0  my  brothers ;  hearken,  and  be  ad- 
vised." 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  Akiba,  "though  we  shall 
never  meet  again  on  earth,  there  is  another  land  of  life 
where  we  may  all  assemble ;  thither  shall  the  true  Galore, 
the  Sons  of  Fire,  the  beloved  of  the  Gods,  go,  and  joyful 
shall  be  their  union  under  one  tent.  For  what  says  Ku- 
beer  ?  Verily  his  words  are  pearls  of  great  price.  '  The 
spirit  that  is  in  man  dieth  not ;  it  is  a  spirit  of  life  and 
love,  it  shall  exist  in  another  form,  and  in  a  different  orb.' 
They  who  know  us  not,  say  that  we  are  infidels  as  to  a 
future  being ;  that  we  have  neither  gods  nor  demons.  But 
3'e,  0  my  brothers,  know  better :  ye  are  all  persuaded  that 
ye  shall  not  perish  like  the  beasts  of  the  field,  but  that  ye 
shall  survive,  and  be  whatever  ye  have  deserved  to  be.  Be 
ye,  therefore,  true  and  faithful  to  one  another  in  all  right 
things  unto  the  end.     So  shall  ye  prosper  and  rejoice." 

After  this  we  struck  our  teuts,  and  departed. 


240     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTA&U. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

One  day  as  Manasam  and  myself  were  out  fishing,  our 
conversation  turned  upon  the  past,  and  from  those  leai'ned 
stores  which  he  possessed  he  displa^'ed  an  amount  of  s'ast 
and  varied  knowledge,  greater  than  he  had  ever  yet  shown 
me.  He  was  in  sooth  a  man  of  wonderful  accomplishments, 
and  to  me  it  was  then  matter  of  surprise  to  find  such  a  one 
leading  a  vagrant  life  with  gypsies ;  but  of  such  incidents 
I  have  since  found  life  is  full,  and  nothing  amazes  me  now. 
He  knew  seven  or  eight  languages,  which  he  spoke  per- 
fectly ;  he  had  read  also,  and  mastered  a  great  number  of 
books,  and  he  was  not  destitute  of  eloquence ;  he  was  at 
all  times  witty,  wise  and  moral.  He  was  fond  of  meta- 
physical speculation,  and  infused  into  my  mind  the  primary 
seeds  of  many  an  odd  notion,  which  I  have  since  made  my 
own,  and  which  have  put  forth  strange  blossoms,  and  still 
stranger  fruit.  For  age,  he  was  about  eight-and-twenty ; 
his  appearance  was  dark,  but  noble ;  there  was  a  haughty 
flash  in  his  eye,  which  only  occasionally  shone  out,  but 
when  it  did  it  told  a  tale  of  fiery  and  romantic  passion.  I 
had  attached  myself  to  him  with  so  much  boyish  trust,  and 
he  saw  that  my  liking  was  so  genuine  and  unfeigned,  that 
he  reciprocated  my  regard  with  the  sincerest  friendship, 
and  I  loved  him  with  more  than  fraternal  fondness.  He 
delighted  in  softening  that  fierce  pride  and  unsocial  temper 
which  from  the  first  were  mine ;  and  humanizing  me,  not 
so  much  by  counsel — which  seldom  succeeds — as  by  ex- 
ample, which  almost  always  vanquishes. 

"  Manasam,"  I  said,  "  how  comes  it  to  pass  that  you  live 
with  my  brothers  of  Egypt  ?     You  are  not  of  them." 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  Zingari  reject 
no  one,  and  I  feel  a  vague  sort  of  happiness  among  them, 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAaU.      241 

such  as  I  cannot  describe,  but  which  contents  me  more 
than  any  thing  in  my  former  life." 

"And  what  may  your  former  life  have  been,  0  Man- 
asam  ?" 

"  Well,  it  is  not  remarkable  for  any  telling  incidents,  but 
if  you  would  like  to  hear  it  you  shall.  My  father  was  a 
gentleman  of  large  fortune  in  one  of  the  western  counties ; 
he  had  two  sons ;  I  am  the  second.  Our  home  was  an 
ancient  mansion  that  had  been  in  our  family  for  centuries, 
and  we  possessed  all  that  heart  could  desire.  Thus  time 
flowed  pleasantlj"^  on  until  my  sixteenth  year,  when  I  was 
to  be  sent  to  Oxford.  I  had  a  little  cousin,  a  sweet,  inno- 
cent girl,  jf hose  father  and  mother  dying  early,  had  left 
her  to  the  guardianship  of  my  father,  and  she  lived  with 
us.  As  her  fortune  when  she  came  of  age  would  be  con- 
siderable, my  father  was  not  disinclined  to  secure  it  if  he 
could,  so  he  placed  her  with  us,  and  she  was  our  playmate 
in  all  youthful  pranks.  I  soon  noticed  that  she  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  me ;  and  I  suppose  I  let  her  and  others 
see  that  I  was  not  insensible  of  it ;  for  one  day  my  father 
called  me  into  the  library  and  spoke  thus : 

" '  George,  you  must  go  to  Oxford  in  a  day  or  two.  It 
will  not  do  for  you  to  remain  here  making  love  to  Sophy. 
She  is  to  be  your  brother's  wife,  so  you  had  better  put 
away  all  nonsense  out  of  your  head.' 

" '  But,  sir,'  I  said, '  is  it  not  enough  for  Will  to  have  the 
estate?  He  is  my  eldest  brother,  and  I  don't  grumble 
about  that.     Why  should  he  have  my  cousin  ?' 

" '  My  dear  George,'  he  replied,  '  the  estate  is  mortgaged 
so  heavily  that  unless  your  cousin's  money  redeems  it, 
tiiere  will  be  no  estate  at  all,  and  we  must  all  turn  out  and 
seek  our  fortune  as  we  can.' 

"  I  bowed  and  was  silent.  What  could  I  say  ?  I  had  no 
doubt  it  was  true,  and  I  supposed  all  was  for  the  best 
16 


242     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

That  evening  I  strolled  into  the  old  park.  It  looked  beau- 
tiful. There  was  not  an  ancient  mossgrown  tree  that  I  did 
not  love  as  an  old  friend.  '  Yes,'  I  said,  '  I  will  sacrifice 
myself;  this  noble  old  place  shall  never  pass  to  strangers 
if  I  can  help  it.  How  are  Sophy's  feelings  ?  Is  she  also 
to  be  sacrificed  ?  Yet  will  it  be  a  sacrifice  ?  My  brother 
is  a  finer  and  bigger  fellow  than  I  am.  Perhaps  she  will 
love  him  in  time,  and  all  will  go  well.'  While  I  mused  in 
this  way  I  saw  her  in  one  of  the  distant  walks.  How  sweet, 
how  beautiful,  how  innocent  she  looked !  She  was  twining 
some  wild  flowers  about  her  little  straw  hat,  and  singing 
merrily  all  the  while.  She  does  not  know  that  I  am  leaving 
her,  I  thought.  Alas !  she  will  be  sorry  when  she  does.  I 
went  to  meet  her,  and  as  gently  as  I  could  told  her  I  was 
going  in  a  day  or  two.  She  struggled  hard  with  her  feel- 
ings, but  she  fainted  in  my  arms. 

"I  went  to  Oxford  and  remained  there  four  years.  I 
was  then,  for  the  first  time  since  my  departure,  invited 
home.  My  cousin  had  grown  into  a  beautiful  young 
woman.  The  moment  I  saw  her  I  knew  that  she  loved  me 
still.  She  had  been  betrothed  to  my  brother  during  my 
absence,  and  I  suppose  she  had  not  thought  very  seriously 
about  the  matter,  or  about  poor  absent  George,  but  when 
she  saw  me  it  was  evident  that  she  felt  for  the  first  time 
the  ordeal  through  which  she  must  pass.  My  father  did 
not  notice,  or  if  he  did  he  affected  not  to  do  so.  However, 
he  took  care  that  we  should  have  no  interview,  for  he  stuck 
close  to  me  all  the  while  I  was  there,  and  in  a  week  he  sent 
me  on  the  Grand  Tour.  My  allowance  was  liberal,  but  I 
would  rather  have  stayed  at  home ;  this,  however,  was  not 
to  be,  so  I  went:  I  did  all  I  could  to  have  but  one  short 
private  meeting  with  my  cousin ;  but  every  device  failed, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  leave  without  unburthening  my  soul 
of  its  secret  passionate  love.  For  I  did  indeed  love  her, 
with  all  the  intense  feeling  of  a  man,  and  I  struggled  hard 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      243 

with  all  my  emotions  in  her  presence.  My  father's  grave 
look/ however,  awed  me,  and  I  departed.  '  George,'  he  said, 
*  your  cousin  is  dead  to  you ;  she  is  your  brother's  affianced 
bride.  It  would  be  dishonorable  in  the  extreme,  if  even  by 
a  look  you  made  that  faith  to  waver  which  now  belongs  to 
another.  I  have  brought  you  up  as  a  gentleman  and  man 
of  honor.  Remember  the  obligations  which  these  sacred 
words  impose,  and  be  worthy  of  them.'  So  I  went  my  way. 
"  Three  years  passed,  during  which  I  heard  only  from 
my  father,  and  he  wrote  about  every  thing  but  her  of  whom 
I  longed  most  to  hear.  One  day  I  was  at  Milan  admiring 
the  beauty  of  that  famous  capital.  I  had  sauntered  from 
gallery  to  gallery,  from  palace  to  palace,  but  I  could  not 
rest.  I  was  wretched  and  most  unhappy.  I  strolled  into 
the  open  country  ;  then  a  strange  feeling  came  over  me, 
and  I  fell  into  a  species  of  reverie,  in  which  I  thought  I 
could  see  what  was  actually  going  on  at  that  instant.  Have 
you  ever  had  this  feeling  ?  If  not,  you  cannot  understand 
me.  I  walked  along,  but  I  saw  nothing  of  the  things  be- 
fore me.  I  was  in  England;  I  was  in  my  father's  house. 
I  went  into  the  old  parish  church;  I  saw  her  stand  in 
bridal  veil  beside  the  altar ;  I  heard  her  utter  irrevocable 
vows.  I  was  in  a  magnetic  stupor,  but  every  thing  passed 
vividly,  not  before  my  eye  indeed,  but  in  my  mind  within. 
I  felt  the  holy  magic  of  her  presence,  yet  I  knew  that  seas 
and  lands  divided  us  ;  I  could  perceive  the  divine  effluence 
tliat  seemed  to  flow  from  her  being  into  mine ;  yet  I  knew 
that  we  were  separated  by  thousands  of  miles.  It  was  not 
a  dream,  it  was  not  a  vision,  it  was  not  a  jealous  man's 
ideal  torture  ;  but  it  was  the  strong  conviction  of  my  soul 
that  at  that  moment  her  nuptials  were  being  celebrated  ; 
that  our  hearts  were  one  though  far  apart ;  that  her  soul 
was  blended  into  mine,  as  mine  appeared  to  be  with  hers ; 
and  that  she  was  probably  experiencing  the  very  same  sort 
of  sensation  herself,  and  though  corporeally  present  in  the 


244     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

church,  yet  was  she  spiritually  far  away  in  some  old  Italian 
haunt  with  him  she  loved. 

"  Three  months  passed,  and  still  I  heard  no  tidings  from 
England.  I  was  at  Naples  one  night,  at  the  theatre ;  the 
play  had  already  begun,  and  I  was  rapt  in  the  scene. 
Suddenly  I  heard  a  door  open — ^the  door  of  a  distant  box, 
and  I  heard  it  close  again.  By  heaven,  I  said,  it  is  she — 
mj"^  cousin  is  in  the  theatre.  My  heart  knew  it  at  once ; 
a  magnetic,  fiery  thrill  ran  through  it.  It  came  from  her 
and  entered  into  me.  I  dared  not  look  around,  for  I  dreaded 
to  see  her  with  her  husband.  My  heart  was  swollen  and 
almost  bursting.  At  last  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I 
turned  my  eyes  from  the  stage,  and  cast  them  backwards 
towards  one  of  the  central  boxes.  She  was  there.  My 
brother  Will  was  with  her.  How  beautiful  she  looked! 
She  outshone  the  princesses  of  the  land ;  but  not  like  them 
was  she  arraj^ed  in  costly  pearls.  She  was  dressed  simply 
in  a  white  robe.  How  I  loved  to  look  upon  her !  Yet  the 
sight  made  me  unhappy.  There  she  was,  hopelesslj^  lost  to 
me — the  property  of  another ;  so  young,  so  beautiful,  so 
heavenly  good,  and  lost  to  me  forever.  I  retired  into  the 
further  corner  of  my  box  and  contemplated  her  face.  Her 
e3'e  was  restless ;  she  seemed  to  me  not  happy.  Methought 
her  mind  was  far  away.  She  looked  about  in  various 
quarters,  eagerly,  as  if  hoping  to  see  some  one;  but  re- 
curred again  to  the  stage,  and  ever  with  a  disappointed 
expression.  At  length  I  mustered  courage  to  approach 
her.  She  was  agitated  for  a  moment — she  grew  deadl}'  pale 
— but  it  passed  off,  and  our  greetings  were  cordial.  My 
brother  was,  as  usual,  good  humored,  and  he  manifested  no 
jealousy. 

"  I  stayed  with  them  a  month.  One  night  as  I  wandered 
by  that  glorious  bay,  and  sent  my  thoughts  aloft  among  the 
moon  and  stars,  then  shining  splendidly  in  that  intensely 
azure  arch,  I  perceived  that  I  was  followed.     The  figure  was 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     245 

muffled.  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  stiletto,  for  I  had  injured  no 
man  ;  but  I  tliought  it  well  to  be  on  my  guard.  I  stood  beside 
a  fallen  column,  and  still  gazed  aloft,  occasionally  looking  at 
the  distant  figure ;  it  came  nearer  and  was  at  length  beside 
me.  The  dark  hood  was  then  thrown  aside ;  the  stars  of 
heaven  then  shone  upon  that  heavenly  face — it  was  my 
cousin,  my  first,  my  last,  my  only  love  on  earth — alas  1  my 
brother's  wife.  Upon  no  fairer,  sweeter  face  or  form  did 
that  moon  ever  shine,  since  God  commanded  it  to  take  its 
place  iu  the  firmament,  and  to  give  brightness  to  the  sons 
of  men. 

"  '  George,'  she  said, '  I  have  followed  you  here  this  night, 
for  the  first  and  last  time,  because  I  see  that  you  have 
shunned  me  since  we  have  met ;  and  I  can  bear  this  silence 
no  longer.  Why  am  I  your  brother's  wife?  Why  have 
you  forgotten  me  ?' 

"  I  groaned  aloud,  but  could  not  answer. 

" '  They  told  me  that  j'ou  were  married,'  she  resumed, 
*  married  to  an  Italian  lady;  and  now  I  find  that  I  was  de- 
ceived. Until  this  falsehood  had  been  urged,  I  still  refused 
to  name  a  day  for  my  marriage ;  after  that  I  resisted  no 
longer.  Whj'  should  I  ?  He  alone  whom  I  loved  was 
another's,  and  I  should  never  again  see  him.  George,  can 
you  forgive  me  ?' 

"  I  flung  mj'self  at  her  feet. 

" '  Oh  1  spare  me,'  I  cried. 

"  '  Yes,  you  do  forgive  me,  my  cousin ;  but  I  can  never 
forgive  myself.  Your  brother — I  accuse  him  not.  He  is 
my  husband — but  only  in  name.  I  have  tried  to  love  him ; 
but  I  cannot.  My  heart  is  broken  in  the  struggle.  Yet  a 
little  while  and  it  will  beat  no  more.  But  while  it  does,  it 
heats  only  for  you.  Tell  me — tell  me  once  before  we  part 
forever,  that  you  love  me  still.' 

"  My  tears  answered  for  me — tears  of  blood  from  my 
heart. 

IG 


246      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"'0  Sophy,'  I  said, 'I  love  you  more  than  God.'  I 
could  say  no  more. 

" '  Now,'  she  said,  '  I  am  content.  We  part  forever. 
Kiss  me,  dear,  dearest  George  ;  obey  my  command.  Go — 
and  never  let  us  meet  again,  until  we  meet  in  heaven  above, 
and  shall  be  no  more  separated  by  deceit.' 

"  I  obeyed  her.  I  was  passive  as  a  bird  in  her  hands. 
I  pressed  her  to  my  heart  beside  that  silver  sea,  and  then  I 
tore  myself  away.  I  never  again  saw  her  living,  but  I  have 
wept  for  nights  over  the  cold  grave  at  M— — ,  where  she 
sleeps  her  final  sleep.  She  died  in  three  months,  but  my 
brother  soon  forgot  her,  and  consoled  himself  with  another 
wealthy  bride.  I  followed  her  coffin  home  to  England  in 
disguise.  I  watched  it  until  it  was  conveyed  to  earth  ;  then 
I  knew  that  I  was  alone  and  woe-stricken  forever;  and 
I  cursed  my  fate,  and  lifted  up  my  tongue  even  against 
God.  I  became  like  Cain,  a  vagabond  and  a  wanderer.  I 
could  not  bear  a  settled  home ;  I  shunned  the  daylight ;  I 
loathed  to  look  upon  the  sun.  At  night  only  I  roamed 
abroad  and  fed  my  soul  on  melancholy  meditation.  In  the 
course  of  these  midnight  rambles  I  found  myself  in  a  gypsy 
encampment  in  a  distant  county.  I  had  money  now  in 
abundance,  for  our  fortimes  were  now  secured,  and  my 
father  atoned  to  me  as  far  as  he  could  for  the  one  great 
wrong  by  giving  me  an  ample  income.  I  shared  it  with 
these  wild  people,  and  became  one  of  themselves.  I  con- 
cealed my  name,  and  was  adopted  into  their  community, 
receiving  the  surname  which  I  now  bear.  From  them,  after 
a  stay  of  two  or  three  years,  I  came  among  these  attracted 
hither  by  Akiba,  with  whom  I  had  formed  an  acquaintance 
among  my  first  gypsy  friends ;  but  who  left  them  for  some 
reason  and  persuaded  me  to  accompany  him.  Since  then 
we  have  lived  like  brothers,  and  in  his  company  I  have  for- 
gotten or  have  striven  to  forget  the  Past.  He  has  taught 
me  many  things — ^more  indeed  than  all  the  books  I  ever 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     247 

read  have  taught ;  and  I  believe  his  friendship  for  me  is 
sincere.  That  we  both  regard  you,  I  need  not  say,  and 
since  you  have  made  us  acquainted  with  your  story,  our  re- 
gard has  increased.  But  you  must  not  abide  with  us  much 
longer.  It  is  a  species  of  deception.  You  must  not  do  it. 
Besides,  you  are  but  beginning  life,  and  you  have  fair  pros- 
pects. I,  on  the  contrary,  am  an  old  and  broken-hearted 
man.  When  you  have  been  tried  like  me,  then  you  may  se- 
clude yourself  forever  from  the  busy  world — but  not  till 
then.  Meanwhile,  rely  implicitly  on  us,  and  prepare  to 
remove  Francesca,  for  in  this  place  is  no  longer  a  safe 
abiding  for  her.  This  is  the  counsel  of  your  friend,  who, 
when  he  loses  you,  will  lose  a  part  of  himself;  but  who 
would  not  be  your  friend  if  he  counselled  otherwise." 

I  strove  to  dissuade  Manasam  from  this  view  of  my 
affairs,  but  in  vain.  He  and  the  Indian  it  seemed  had 
talked  them  over,  and  they  had  both  decided  that  I  must 
depart  soon.  Money,  as  much  as  I  required,  was  to  be  at 
my  disposal,  and  every  thing  that  friendly  wisdom  could 
suggest  was  prepared  for  my  departure — but  as  to  the  de- 
parture itself  they  were  inflexible.  I  was  scarcely  pleased 
with  this  symbol  of  their  friendship ;  but  where  I  could 
not  win,  I  had  learned  not  to  murmur,  and  I  hoped  to  gain 
time,  and  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

DoM  Balthazar  had  now  abided  with  us  nearly  three 
months.  During  the  whole  of  this  period,  with  the  excep- 
tion, perhaps,  of  the  first  week  I  passed  at  Norwaod,  I  felt 
uneasy,  restless,  agitated  by  a  dim  uncertain  fear  of  an  im- 
pending danger.    Wherever  I  went  his  eye  was  upon  me. 


248      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

He  seemed  to  watch  m}''  every  movement.  I  could  have  no 
interview  with  Francesca,  nor  was  it  possible  for  me  to 
have.  Manasam  was  gone  away  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country;  Akiba  was  laid  up  with  illness;  the  journey  to 
Norwood  having  proved  too  much  for  one  of  his  advanced 
years.  Every  thing  seemed  to  conspire  against  me.  I  knew 
not  what  was  the  matter — yet  was  I  sure  that  something 
evil  was  lowering  above  my  head.  Meanwhile  Dom  Bal- 
thazar was  swaggering  about  in  his  usual  style ;  he  did  not 
seek  to  come  into  any  open  collision  with  me.  We  both 
shunned  each  other  as  if  by  mutual  consent — ^yet  were  both 
perpetually  thrown  together  and  clashing  in  some  odd,  un- 
accountable way,  that  between  friends  would  have  been 
awkward,  but  between  sworn  enemies  like  us  was  particu- 
larly disagreeable.  There  was  a  mocking  sneer  about  his 
lip  whenever  he  saw  me.  What  could  I  do  ?  He  could 
have  crushed  me  like  a  bird  or  a  smelt,  within  his  iron 
grasp — his  thews  and  muscles  were  like  cords  of  steel,  and 
his  resolution  was  equal  to  his  strength. 

He  seemed  to  have  no  occupation.  He  lived  among  the 
tribe  like  an  independent  nobleman.  He  had  plenty  of 
gold,  which  he  exhibited  with  a  careless  improvidence  ;  he 
had  but  to  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  it  immediately 
appeared  laden  with  guineas.  These  he  distributed  frc'ly 
among  the  Gitanos — as  freely,  indeed,  as  if  his  resources 
were  inexhaustible.  Yet  it  was  not  this  lavish  profusion 
so  much  as  some  mysterious  influence  about  him,  which 
seemed  to  consolidate  his  power.  Despite  his  roughness, 
blasphemy,  contempt  of  all  things  sacred  and  divine  ;  his 
mockery  of  the  women,  and  his  assumption  that  they  were 
all  detestable,  and  the  audacious  arrogance  with  which  he 
recounted  his  own  personal  admixture  among  the  most  de- 
grading And  infamous  exploits,  all  of  which  would  have 
been  quite  enough  to  destroy  any  ordinary  adventurer,  and 
certainly  tended  to  make  him  odious  to  all  the  gypsies, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     249 

there  was  an  indefinable  something  about  him  which  spoke 
of  force,  and  the  consciousness  of  an  importance  among 
his  people  which  produced  its  effect  upon  the  mind ;  and 
the  Queen  herself  and  her  chief  councillors  acknowledged 
his  sway,  or,  at  all  events,  did  not  disdain  to  play  a  sub- 
ordinate part  while  he  was  present.  He  issued  commands 
and  they  were  obeyed ;  he  advised  measures  and  they  were 
adopted ;  he  prescribed  routes  and  they  were  followed ;  he 
organized  expeditions  and  they  were  carried  out.  In  a 
word  he  seemed  suddenly  to  have  usurped  the  part  of  a 
prime  minister,  nor  was  his  adoption  of  the  character  dis- 
puted or  denied. 

All  this  was  particularly  odious  to  me.  I  knew  the 
frailty  of  my  hold  on  these  people ;  my  tenure  in  fact  de- 
pended more  on  their  caprice  than  on  any  other  basis.  I 
had  now  lived  for  two  years  with  them,  during  which  I  had 
certainly  made  many  friends,  but  the  Calero  character  is 
fickle  in  the  extreme ;  the  revolutions  of  a  second  overset 
it  from  its  whole  foundation.  Indians  in  descent,  they  have 
all  tlie  qualities  of  that  mercurial  race ;  easily  impressible 
by  the  fancy  of  the  moment,  they  will  be  ready  to  die  for 
you  to  day,  and  destroy  you  to-morrow,  just  as  you  happen 
to  appear  to  their  excitable  imaginations.  I  was  well 
aware  that  I  had  done  nothing  for  these  people  in  return 
for  the  amount  of  hospitable  kindness  which  they  had  shown 
to  me ;  they  had  fed  and  clothed  me  for  a  long  time ;  nor 
(lid  there  seem  to  be  the  remotest  possibility  tliat  I  should 
bo  ever  able  to  remunerate  them.  They  had  sheltered  me 
when  I  was  a  houseless  wanderer.  All  fealty  was  due  to 
me  from  them.  I  was  conscious  of  the  most  ardent  desire 
to  prove  my  gratitude  and  display  my  loyalty ;  but  what 
availed  the  gratitude  and  loyalty  of  a  stripling  of  seventeen, 
if  either  or  both  were  to  be  balanced  against  the  strength 
of  gold,  or  the  mysterious  influence  of  a  man  like  Dom 
Balthazar,  who  evidently  had  immense  resources  at  his 


250      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

command,  had  a  profound  and  horrible  antipathy  to  my- 
self, and  was  by  no  means  likely  to  falter  in  gratif^'ing  it 
by  any  scruples  of  conscience  or  suggestions  of  fear? 

But  whence  originated  this  fiery  hate  which  it  was  now 
obvious  raged  in  both  our  hearts  ?  This,  0  reader,  is  one 
of  the  mysteries  of  mankind  which  never  have  been  and 
never  can  be  solved,  unless  by  the  doctrine  of  our  pre-ex- 
istcnce  in  some  former  condition  of  being,  before  we  breathed 
the  air  of  earth.  For  how  else  can  that  dread  hostility 
which  at  the  first  view  exists  between  two  men  arise  and 
be  explained,  except  on  the  supposition  that  they  were 
deadly  foes  in  some  other  sphere  of  existence  ?  I  go  into 
a  theatre  or  drawing-room,  whose  carpet  I  have  never 
crossed  until  this  night;  I  see  a  man  or  woman  there  whom 
I  never  saw  before,  to  the  best  of  my  belief.  We  look  on 
each  other,  and  vivid  hate  is  seen  in  the  e3'^es  of  each ;  a 
cold  chill  creeps  over  the  frame;  some  nerve  within  the 
heart  seems  to  quiver ;  a  nameless  weight  and  oppression, 
a  feeling  of  disgust,  or  fear,  or  antipathy,  arises  between 
us ;  each  views  the  other  with  scorn,  or  with  an  icy  gldre 
that  fills  one  for  the  moment  with  a  tormenting  sensation. 
This  cannot  be  mere  accident ;  it  must  be  something  more 
than  want  of  harmony ;  neither  does  it  always  arise  from 
a  mutual  repulsion ;  I  have  myself  been  seized  by  this  feel- 
ing against  a  man  who  exhibited  no  similar  dislike  to  my- 
self; I  have  myself  been  an  object  of  virulent  hatred  and 
persecution  by  persons  to  whom  I  had  no  distaste  at  all, 
whom  I  was  not  conscious  of  having  offended,  and  whom  I 
really  would  not  injure,  even  though  the  most  favorable 
opportunity  for  doing  so  were  presented  to  my  very  hand. 

How,  then,  can  it  be  rationally  explained?  In  no  way 
except  as  my'  Gooroo  explained  it — ^we  were  foes  in  a  for- 
mer life ;  we  lived  and  hated,  and  one  of  us  probably  be- 
came trie  victim  of  the  other.  I  know  a  man  at  this  present 
moment,  who  stands  high  in  the  world,  a  fine  scholar,  a 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     251 

civil  gentleman,  and  so  forth — yet  I  never  by  accident  find 
myself  in  his  presence  without  feeling  satisfied  that  he 
once  deprived  me  of  life.  His  company  becomes  odious, 
hateful,  fearful  to  me;  my  blood  runs  cold  as  ice,  from 
brain  to  heel ;  I  have  the  idea  all  through  of  blood,  blood, 
blood;  of  fierce  tusks  or  claws;  of  something  ferocious, 
savage,  and  sanguinary.  My  flesh  creeps ;  my  blood  cur- 
dles ;  if  I  were  to  be  beside  that  man  for  an  hour,  I  should 
swoon ;  if  I  were  to  be  near  him  for  a  month,  I  should  die. 
This  is  not  mere  antipathy,  for  I  have  none  towards  him. 
I  have  labored  hard  to  divest  myself  of  the  feeling ;  I  have 
accosted  him  in  friendly  spirit — but  all  is  useless.  I  never 
can  get  over  this  fixed  idea ;  or  fail  to  associate  him  with 
death  in  my  own  mind.  Probably,  it  may  be  said,  he  is 
destined  to  murder  me ;  and  perhaps  this  would  be  a  fair 
answer  to  my  argument  while  we  both  live.  I  can  only 
remark,  however,  that  at  present  there  seems  no  possible 
chance  of  such  a  contingency ;  it  seems,  in  sooth,  the  most 
unlikely  event  that  could  occur.  But  whether  I  have  at 
one  time  been  his  victim,  or  whether  he  is  destined  at  some 
future  period  to  destroy  me,  I  never  can  get  rid  of  the 
strong  and  powerful  idea  that  he  has  revelled  in  my  blood, 
and  drank  it  hot  as  it  flowed  out  of  my  heart.  I  believe 
he  has. 

This,  however,  was  not  precisely  the  feeling  which  I  en- 
tertained towards  Dom  Balthazar.  Towards  him  there 
was  fierce  and  burning  hatred ;  but  no  fear  mingled  with 
my  sensation.  On  the  contrary,  while  I  detested,  I  felt 
myself  in  spirit  at  least  his  master.  As  boy  to  man,  I 
was  of  course  no  match  for  him ;  he  could  have  crushed  me 
ftt  a  blow ;  but  as  spirit  marshalled  against  spirit,  I  felt 
that  mine  was  the  superior,  and  that  I  either  conquered 
him  in  some  other  place,  or  would  eventually  do  so  here. 
Even  in  his  sternest  moods,  and  when  his  hard  eye  was 
fixed  on  me  with  a  concentrated  glare  like  that  of  Medusa, 


252      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

I  conffonted  him  with  an  unquailing  gaze,  and  stared  him 
down  ;  his  shagg}'  lashes  were  lowered,  and  his  dark  glance 
was  arrested,  as  if  in  fear  ;  he  could  not  bear  my  fixed  and 
lion  look.  At  these  periods  I  could  see  that  he  shook  all 
over ;  but  whether  with  rancor  or  apprehension,  I  could 
not  of  course  guess.  But  it  invariably  happened  that  after 
a  conflict  of  this  kind,  he  sought  to  tempt  me  into  open 
quarrel,  by  taunts,  or  hints,  or  shrugs,  or  insinuations  of 
my  falsehood,  cowardice  or  treachery.  I  bore  all,  however, 
for  it  would  have  been  insanity  to  have  entered  into  a  fray 
with  this  strong  and  deadly  man,  who,  if  he  failed  in  bodily 
vigor — a  most  unlikely  chance — would  not  have  scrupled 
to  resort  to  one  of  his  Spanish  arguments  with  the  dagger, 
and  would  have  deprived  me  of  life  with  no  more  scruple 
than  a  cat  exhibits  to  an  unhapi)}^  mouse.  If  so  taken  off, 
what  motive  could  there  be  in  any  one  of  the  tribe  to  exert 
themselves  to  bring  a  brother  to  justice  for  the  sake  of  a 
wandering  stranger  like  myself? 

" Zala-Mayna,"  said  he  to  me,  one  day,  "why  do  you 
linger  here  among  these  people  ?  3'ou  are  not  of  their 
blood ;  you  never  can  be  reconciled  wholly  to  their  customs. 
You  are  young,  bold,  brave,  handsome ;  why  chain  your- 
self down  to  the  career  of  a  vagabond,  when  you  might  be 
a  soldier  and  a  hero  ? 

"Dom  Balthazar,"  I  answered,  "when  I  am  sure  that 
you  take  sufficient  interest  in  my  welfare  to  justify  you  in 
questioning  me,  then  I  will  answer  you,  but  not  till  then." 

His  eye  quailed ;  his  lip  quivered ;  his  liver  grew  white 
within  him.  He  affected  then  to  be  in  a  most  companion- 
able mood. 

"  Naj^,"  said  he,  "  I  know  not  why  you  should  repel  me, 
or  why  you  should  suspect  that  any  but  a  friendly  feeling 
has  prompted  my  question.  You  are  young.  I  am  a  man 
who  has  travelled  much,  observed  much,  and  suffiered  much. 
I  have  traversed  nearly  the  whole  habitable  earth,  and  can 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     253 

put  you  in  the  way  of  great  adventure.  I  see  that  this  is 
your  desire ;  more  than  that,  it  is  your  destiny ;  you  can- 
not avoid  ;  you  must  fulfil  it.  Why,  then,  should  you  spurn 
a  man  who  could  put  you  in  the  way  of  achieving  that  very 
end  for  which  Fate  has  marked  3' ou  ?" 

"What  may  that  be,  most  excellent  Dom  Balthazar? 
Stabbing  negroes  in  the  Pyrenees?  Keeping  guard  at 
Allien?  carrying  messages  to  devil-kings?  selling  poisons 
to  unfaithful  wives  ?     None  of  these  will  suit  me." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  these,  nor  such  as  these.  In  the 
vast  deserts  of  Arabia  there  are  tribes  who  make  the  bravest 
to  be  their  king.  Follow  me,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  them ; 
with  your  knowledge  and  your  right  arm,  you  may  be  a 
second  Ahmed,  at  the  head  of  a  new  faith,  and  extending 
your  conquering  banner  from  Stamboul  to  Rome  or  Lon- 
don. Again,  there  are  princes  in  India  who  require  the 
arts,  the  sciences,  the  skill  of  Europe,  and  will  repay  their 
owner  with  kingdoms  and  with  peoples.  All  these  are 
yours,  or  may  be  yours — what  hinders  Zala-Mayna  from 
wearing  the  crown  of  Aureng  Zebe,  or  following  in  the 
triumphant  path  of  Tamerlane,  or  Chengiz?" 

"I  answer  your  question  by  putting  another  —  what 
hinders  you  from  doing  all  these  fine  things,  which  you 
kindly  reserve  for  me  ?" 

"  Many  obstacles  interpose — the  first  and  greatest  is  my 
age.  I  am  no  longer  young  like  you.  I  am  fifty — what 
nuin  of  fifty  could  achieve  what  I  have  marked  out  unless 
he  had  passed  his  youth  in  laying  the  foundation  for  it? 
-A  gain,  I  am  not  learned  as  you  are ;  and  it  is  now  too  lat« 
for  me  to  go  to  school.  Finally,  I  am  no  longer  ambitious. 
I  have  gained  all  I  need ;  and  my  years  require  repose. 
But  you  have  a  future  before  you.  All  mine  is  in  the 
Past." 

"  Nevertheless,  Dom  Balthazar,  I  am  content,  and  will 


254     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

not  seek  my  fortune  in  the  way  you  point  out.  My  fortune 
is  with — " 

I  was  about  to  add,  "  Francesca,"  but  I  stopped  myself 
in  time.  I  had  never  breathed  her  name  to  this  villain.  It 
would  have  been  a  sacrilege. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  know  what  you  would  say — ^but  you 
are  wrong,  you  will  fail.  Poor  youth — you  are,  indeed, 
infatuated."  And  he  left  me  with  a  scornful  sneer,  more 
burning  than  Alecto's  torch  unto  my  heart. 

Oh !  how  I  wished  for  wings  to  bear  her  off  from  this 
hateful  bully's  presence;  from  his  machinations  against 
both ;  for  now  I  felt  convinced  that  he  was  devising  evil ; 
and  how  I  longed  to  possess  some  magic  art  whereby  I 
could  dive  into  his  heart,  detect  his  secret,  whatever  it  was, 
and  meet  him  with  his  own  artifices !  Lose  her !  lose  my 
Francesca  1  the  very  thought  was  death.  But  how  secure 
her  ?  I  was  alone,  helpless,  a  boy,  a  beggar,  living  almost 
on  the  alms  of  the  Gitanos.  I  was  in  the  centre  of  a  tribe 
with  fierce  passions,  watched,  probably,  by  a  hundred  eyes, 
each  quick  and  keen  as  that  of  a  serpent;  for  now  it 
flashed  on  my  mind  like  lightning  that  of  late  wherever  I 
had  been,  I  always  saw  a  gj'psy  boy  or  girl  loitering  near ; 
sometimes  peering  into  the  grass,  sometimes  rifling  the 
bushes,  sometimes  lingering  about  the  hedges,  as  if  in 
search  of  bird's  nests.  I  had  not  noticed  it  before,  but  now 
it  ran  through  my  whole  being  like  an  illuminating  flood. 

"  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  doubtless  there  is  truth  in  the  man's 
words.  Manasam  is  away ;  Akiba  is  ill,  experimented  upon, 
doubtless,  by  some  of  Balthazar's  potions.  Why  suffers 
the  old  man  now  for  a  whole  month  ?  Such  a  thing  never 
happened  before.  I  must  watch  ;  I  must  spy.  I  must  dis- 
cover what  is  going  on,  or  I  am  undone." 

I  went  home  to  my  tent,  I  flung  myself  on  my  bed, 
dressed  as  I  was,  but  I  could  not  sleep ;  I  was  restless ;  I 
turned  from  side  to  side ;  my  brain  worked  incessantly,  it  went 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     255 

round  and  round  like  a  revolving  water-wheel ;  an  uneasy 
passion  convulsed  me ;  in  vain  I  closed  my  eyes  and  sought 
repose ;  in  vain  I  tried  to  lull  my  quick-growing  thoughts. 
I  seemed  to  lie  in  a  bed  of  torture;  sleep  was  wholly 
banished  from  my  lids.  The  hours  marched  on ;  all  was 
still ;  the  watch-dogs  were  asleep ;  I  could  only  hear  the 
neigh  of  our  horses  as  they  communicated  at  intervals 
together.  Something  evil  is  being  devised,  I  thought ;  this 
restlessness  is  supernatural.  Let  me  explore  it.  I  rose  and 
peeped  out  of  my  tent.  .  The  night  was  pitch  dark.  I  could 
not  trace  the  outline  of  the  Downs  as  they  mingled  with 
the  ebon  sky,  but  saw  a  light  penetrating  through  a  chink ; 
I  crept  softly  out  on  my  face  and  hands  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  gleam  shone.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  save 
the  twitter  of  a  bird  occasionally  in  the  thicket.  One  of 
our  dogs,  startled  from  his  sleep,  came  near  and  smelled  at 
me.  I  stilled  him  with  my  hand ;  he  knew  my  touch.  I 
bowed  him  down  to  the  gi'ound,  and  he  moved  not;  he 
seemed  to  understand  that  I  wished  to  be  unobserved ;  he 
made  no  sign,  but  I  could  see  he  watched  me  with  anxious 
eyes.  Over  the  damp  grass  I  crept  still ;  I  could  hear  my 
beating  heart.  My  thoughts  were  wound  up  to  a  point,  and 
now  I  knew  the  tent  from  which  the  liglit  flashed.  It  was 
that  appropriated  to  Dom  Balthazar.  I  heard  the  sounds 
of  conversation.  There  were  evidently  more  than  two 
within.  I  glided  on  and  on  until  I  was  hidden  beneath  its 
side,  burning  with  restless  curiosity  to  learn  my  fate,  for  I 
felt  that  it  was  now  at  stake.  Gradually  I  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  until  I  was  close  to  the  place.  I  hid  myself  at  the 
back  of  the  tent.  To  look  within  was,  of  course,  out  of  the 
question ;  but  in  a  moment  I  knew  all  the  voices.  I  had 
no  need  to  learn  more.  Dom  Balthazar  was  there,  the 
C^yps}'  Queen,  and  Giacomo.  These  constituted  the  three 
great  powers  of  our  community.  Dom  Balthazar  was 
speaking  when  I  got  near. 


256     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

"Thus  it  is,"  said  he,  "my  brother,  this  is  a  Biisne — in 
our  tents  is  not  his  home ;  lie  must  abide  there  no  longer. 
In  a  week  I  shall  find  out  his  birth,  his  place,  and  why  he 
is  among  us.  The  watch  which  you  have  just  given  me 
will  be  a  clue  to  all.  The  sj^mbol  of  the  eagle  is  merely  the 
coat  of  arms  of  his  family ;  for  these  Gentiles  think  it  fine 
to  say  they  are  descended  from  birds  and  beasts.  They 
worship  not  idols  of  wood  or  stone.  So  they  swear,  and 
so,  I  suppose,  they  think;  but  their  great  ones  worship 
images  of  this  kind  more  truly  than  they  worship  their 
God  ;  they  make  them  to  be  their  religion,  for  those  are 
emblems  of  rank  and  power,  which  are  their  onl^^  creed. 
They  would  sooner  abandon  all  than  to  relinquish  these 
baubles  ;  sons  of  devils !  yet  thus  they  seek  to  cheat  their 
grand  progenitor.     I  have  said  it — he  must  go." 

"  But  our  faith  is  pledged  to  him,"  said  Giacomo,  "  he 
hath  become  as  one  of  ourselves.  He  hath  broken  our 
bread,  hath  learned  our  language,  hath  slept  in  our  tents, 
hath  sworn  and  kept  fealty  to  us." 

"  What  of  that  ?  It  was  not  with  him  ye  made  a  league, 
but  another  wholly  different,  whom  ye  supposed  him  to  be. 
He  hath  come  here  under  a  mask.  The  mask  is  off",  and  ye 
see  he  is  an  impostor.  What  further  have  ye  to  do  with 
him  ?" 

"  But  my  heart  clings  to  him  nevertheless,"  says  the 
Gypsy  Queen ;  "  he  is  a  good  youth,  and  hath  behaved  well." 

"  It  will  be  worth  gold  to  us,  "  answered  Balthazar ;  "  if, 
as  I  suppose,  his  parents  are  people  of  condition,  they  will 
give  a  large  sum  for  his  recovery." 

The  eyes  of  all  three  sparkled  at  this.  I  could  not  see 
them,  indeed,  but  mj"^  heart  instinctively  felt  it.  Place  gold 
before  a  g^^psy,  and  he  is  half  mad.  Mention  the  accursed 
thing,  and  all  other  considerations  vanish.  There  was 
silence  for  some  minutes,  as  if  each  was  ruminating  over 
the  luxurious  idea  which  the  bare  name  had  called  up. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      257 

The  Gjrpsy  Queen  first  resumed — 

"  He  is  a  Busne,  doubtless,"  she  said,  "  and  he  hath  lived 
on  our  people  now  for  two  years.  Gold  only  will  repay  us ; 
besides,  his  mother  will  be  glad.  I  suppose  she  weeps  for  his 
loss.     She  will  give  gold  in  many  a  purse  for  his  recovery." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  bitterly  at  this,  "  His  mother 
will  be  glad."  The  charming  serpent — no,  seraph — but  both 
mean  the  same  thing  in  the  Hebrew.  /  knew  how  glad  she 
would  be.  She  would  be  glad,  no  doubt,  to  send  me  back 
to  my  school  torturers  ;  to  remove  away  forever  the  living 
witness  of  her  folly. 

"  Well,"  said  Giacomo,  "  there  will  be  gold — ^but  if  not, 
he  shall  stay.  I  will  depend  upon  his  faith.  Besides,  if  he 
goes,  what  becomes  of  her  ?" 

"  Of  whom  quotha  ?"  asked  Balthazar. 

"  Nay,  my  brother,  thou  surely  must  know  this.  I  speak 
of  Francesca,  his  betrothed  bride." 

"  But  she  is  also  a  Busne.     She  also  must  go." 

The  Gypsy  Queen  started ;  she  was  evidently  excited  by 
the  threat.  The  little  girl  had  twined  herself  around  that 
rugged  heart. 

"  Francesca  must  not  go,"  she  said. 

"  She  shall,"  simply  answered  Dom  Balthazar.  There 
"was  a  tone  of  decision  about  this  short  speech  which  cut 
through  my  heart.  I  suppose  it  had  its  effect  also  on  both 
his  companions ;  for  neither  contradicted  Balthazar. 

"  She  cannot  get  her  living  like  the  true  Galore,"  he  said  ; 
"  she  cannot  be  a  burden  to  us,  and  to  our  cliildren.  We  eat 
not  the  bread  of  idleness — why  should  she  ? — the  daughter 
of  a  Busne — of  a  Gentile — of  a  dog  ?  Besides,  she  also  is 
worth  gold." 

"What  mean  you,  Dom  Balthazar  ?"  said  both. 

Their  eager  curiosity  affrighted  me.    It  was  an  evil  omen. 

"  There  are  ten  hundred  pieces  of  red  gold  for  him  that 
will  dsliver  her  over  to  a  man  who  wants  her.  He  is  not 
17 


258         e'dward   wortlet   montagu. 

safe  while  she  is  free.  He  will  do  her  no  harm — only  send 
her  to  Spain  to  be  a  nun,  I  think.  Will  the  Galore  say 
unto  the  man  of  ten  hundred  pieces,  'Begone — we  want 
thee  not.     "We  are  rich.' " 

"  But  who  is  this  man  ?"  asked  Giacomo. 

"  He  is  her  uncle,"  answered  Dom  Balthazar.  "  I  know 
him ;  he  sent  me  here.  The  gold  is  ready  when  the  girl  is 
his." 

A  long  and  dreadful  pause  followed.  My  fate  was  now  in 
the  balance.  I  felt  like  a  criminal  who  awaits  the  verdict 
that  is  to  set  him  free  once  again  in  the  bright  open  air, 
or  to  send  him  to  the  gallows  with  bolt  and  gyve.  I 
could  count  the  pulses  of  my  heart.  I  could  number  the 
throbbings  of  my  temples ;  it  seemed  an  age.  At  length 
Giacomo  spoke. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  Dom  Balthazar,  with  you  be  it.  Bring 
the  purses ;  the  Busne  girl  may  go.  I  suppose  the  boy  will 
soon  follow  her.  Farewell,"  and  they  rose  as  if  to  separate. 
I  retreated  rapidly.  I  got  into  my  tent.  I  flung  myself 
on  my  bed.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  noise — a  footstep,  as  if 
one  entered.  I  closed  my  eyes ;  I  breathed  heavily.  The 
person  stooped — listened ;  he  brought  his  horrid  eyes  near 
mine.  I  knew  by  instinct  it  was  he — the  accursed  fiend 
Balthazar.  But  I  moved  not.  The  thought  occurred,  "  Is 
he  going  to  murder  me  in  my  sleep  ?"  Well — I  must  risk 
it.  I  did  not  move.  He  muttered,  "  It  is  all  right,"  and 
stole  away. 

The  next  day  Dom  Balthazar  departed.  I  knew  where 
he  was  gone — to  London  to  make  inquiries.  I  went  into 
the  town  and  bought  a  map  of  the  roads.  No  time  was  to 
be  lost ;  every  nerve  and  muscle  I  had  was  braced  up  for 
the  occasion  of  this  great  crisis.  I  knew  that  if  I  faltered 
now  I. was  undone.  If  I  were  separated  from  Francesca,  or 
she  from  me,  what  was  to  become  of  her  ?  She  would  be 
banded  over  to  the  uncle.    What  guarantee  was  there  that 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      259 

he  would  not  destroy  her?  He  had  already  killed  her 
parents.  Why  should  he  spare  the  child  ?  I  did  not  believe 
one  word  of  the  convent  in  Spain,  or  the  tale  that  she  was 
to  be  made  a  nun.  How  was  he  more  safe  witli  her  among 
the  priests  than  with  the  gypsies  ?  The  priests  were  the 
Soldiers  of  the  Vatican.  Here  was  the  heiress  of  a  great 
estate  and  an  ancient  peerage  in  their  hands.  What  might 
they  not  accomplish  if  they  restored  her  to  both  ?  First  of 
all,  her  own  devotion  to  their  cause — her  wealth,  her  name, 
her  influence,  her  family  connections,  no  doubt  powerful. 
This  would  be  a  great  deal.  Secondly,  and  this  would, 
perhaps,  weigh  more  with  them,  the  renown  through  Eu- 
rope of  having  done  a  transcendent  piece  of  justice.  This 
story,  therefore,  was  evidently  nonsense.  It  could  impose 
but  on  fools.  Only  her  death  could  make  him  secure — and 
who  could  doubt  that  any  scruple  of  conscience  would  in- 
terfere to  stay  him  ? 

I  bought  my  map,  and  carefully  studied  it.  I  made 
mj'self  a  thorough  master  of  the  roads  to  London.  Upon 
this  point,  therefore,  I  was  satisfied.  But  how  communi- 
cate with  Francesca  ?  She  was  securely  guarded ;  all  inter- 
course between  us  seemed  prohibited.  Nothing,  it  is  true, 
had  been  either  said  or  done  which  could  be  considered  a 
denial  of  access.  Nevertheless,  there  seemed  a  moral  chain 
about  us  both  which  we  could  not  break.  She  was,  in  fact, 
watched,  no  doubt  as  vigilantly  as  I  mj'self  was  watched. 
Well,  I  said,  I  shall  outwatch  the  watcher.  She  must  be 
saved,  or  I  will  perish.  I  knew  she  had  unbounded  faith 
in  me.  I  knew  that  with  one  word  she  would  follow  me  all 
over  the  earth.  No  persuasion,  no  tedious  argument  would 
be  needed  could  I  only  once  approach  her.  But  she  lay  in 
the  tent  of  the  Queen  gypsy,  and  that  was  always  carefully 
guarded.  Here  she  was  confined  night  and  day.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  Time  pressed.  Balthazar  would  return. 
All  hope  would  then  be  ended.     I  should   probably  be 


260     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

seized,  gagged,  and  taken  away — home,  or  to  a  ship,  or  I 
knew  not  whither.  I  watclied,  and  watched,  and  still  I 
watched,  but  no  communication  could  I  make.  I  could  not 
send  her  the  slightest  token  from  my  hand. 

Five  nights  thus  passed.  My  agony  during  all  this  time 
I  never  shall  forget.  I  dreaded  the  lapse  of  every  hour 
lest  it  should  bring  back  Dom  Balthazar.  The  sixth  sun- 
set came,  and  with  it  departed  nearly  all  ray  hopes.  "  To- 
night," I  said,  "or  never."  I  had  marked  out  two  of  the 
best  horses  in  the  encampment.  They  were  strong,  docile, 
and  swift.  They  knew  me  well.  I  had  often  fed  them, 
they  had  licked  my  hands,  they  had  come  to  me  for  bread, 
which  was  never  refused.  I  took  care  that  they  should 
remain  idle  all  the  week.  This  required  a  little  manage- 
ment, but  none  suspected  my  design.  I  procured  some 
clothes,  a  basket  of  food,  a  lantern,  and  made  free  with  a 
pair  of  double-barrelled  pistols  which  were  in  Manasam's 
tent.  These  I  loaded.  I  had  a  couple  of  daggers  also, 
and  a  large  horseman's  cloak.  I  got  some  quick  poison, 
which  I  wrapped  up  carefully  in  some  pieces  of  meat,  and 
with  these  I  proceeded  towards  the  tent  of  the  Gypsy 
Queen,  about  midnight.  The  horses  I  led  gently  close  by, 
and  tethered  them  to  a  bush ;  the  pack-saddles  were  on 
their  backs.  On  my  arm  I  bore  the  horseman's  cloak  loose, 
and  Manasam's  pistols  were  in  mj'^  belt.  The  dogs  knew 
me,  they  barked  not ;  but  had  I  sought  to  enter  the  tent 
they  would  have  torn  me  in  pieces.  I  flung  them  the  meat ; 
they  swallowed  it,  and  in  a  few  moments  lay  lifeless.  Then 
I  stole  into  the  tent.  I  knew  where  Francesca  slept.  I 
crept  noiselessly  to  where  she  slept.  I  could  perceive  by 
her  breathing  that  she  was  not  asleep — she  wept.  I  sighed 
into  her  ear,  "  Francesca,  I  am  here ;  I  am  come  to  save 
you  from  ruin — death.  Get  up  quickly,  and  follow  me. 
There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost."  I  think  she  gave  a 
slight  scream,  but  she  knew  my  voice.     A  harsh  murmur 


BDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     261 

was  heard ;  some  one  came  from  another  part  of  the  tent. 
I  was  suddenly  grappled  by  the  throat.  Then  exerting  all 
my  strength  I  flung  off  the  Gypsy  Queen,  for  it  was  she, 
and  cried  out,  "  Quick,  quick,  Francesca,  or  we  are  undone. 
With  me  life  and  love — with  them  your  uncle  and  death." 
I  flung  the  cloak  round  her,  she  clung  to  me.  A  terrific 
scream  was  heard.  It  was  from  the  Gypsy  Queen.  "  Trea- 
son," she  cried,  "  treason  1  Rescue  'ere  it  be  too  late." 
She  pulled  a  large  bell,  which  was  at  the  entrance  of  her 
tent,  and  which  I  had  never  seen  before.  The  sound  rang 
through  my  ears  like  a  death-knell.  From  all  sides  a  con- 
fused murmur  was  heard.  I  heard  loud  and  threatening 
voices — tones  that  gurgled  blood.  Again  she  grappled  me ; 
again  I  flung  her  off,  and  again  she  screamed.  "  Treason, 
treason;  Zala-Mayna  murders  me."  The  shouts  of  the 
people  increased,  they  were  all  but  on  me.  I  bore  Fran- 
cesca, who  had  fainted,  in  my  arras  away  into  the  open  air ; 
the  cold  air  revived  her.  I  placed  her  on  one  of  the  horses, 
and  mounted  the  other  myself.  All  this  happened  in  one 
minute — quicker  far  than  I  have  described  it.  The  g3'psies 
surrounded  us — they  were  half  naked  and  variously  armed. 
Luckily  the  darkness  was  in  my  favor.  None  of  them  had 
brought  a  light ;  the  hurry  and  confusion  suspended  their 
faculties.  I  struck  the  horses  fiercely ;  they  leaped  and 
trampled  down  the  crowd.  A  terrible  howl  arose — a  shout 
of  pain,  anger,  madness,  and  revenge.  Suddenly  three  or 
four  of  the  gypsies  mounted  horses  and  began  to  pursue 
us.  Away  along  the  high  road  we  sped,  the  stars  glittered 
on  the  sleeping  ocean ;  all  seemed  peace  and  beauty ;  but 
the  holy  silence  of  the  night  was  broken  by  curses  and 
terrible  threats.  We  soon  outdistanced  our  pursuers,  but 
we  heard  their  following  footsteps  for  a  long  time.  We 
slackened  our  pace.  A  solitary  horseman  rode  leisurely 
towards  us.  lie  seemed  a  spectre.  My  heart  felt  a  fore- 
boding ;  I  drew  forth  a  pistol,  for  never  did  I  disregard  that 
17 


262     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

silent  monitor  which  is  a  divine  voice  within  us.     As  he 
came  near,  the  moon  came  from  behind  a  cloud,  and  dis- 
closed the  dark  hellish  features  of  Dom  Balthazar.     We 
both  saw  each  other  at  the  same  instant  of  time.     He  turned 
white  with  rage  and  astonishment.     He  put  his  hand  into 
his  breast  as  if  feeling  for  a  weapon,  and  drew  forth  a  dag- 
ger.    He  leaped  his  horse  upon  me;  but  I  avoided  him. 
As  I  passed  he  aimed  at  my  breast,  but  missed  his  stroke. 
He  then  turned  to  Francesca;   she  was  close  behind  me. 
He  interposed.     I  called  out  to  her  "Jump!"     She  struck 
her  horse  a  quick  blow,  and  he  also  passed  the  steed  of 
Dom  Balthazar.     I  could  see  the  devil  quiver  in  his  face. 
He  was  a  picture  of  all  the  hate  of  hell  concentrated  into 
one  small  compass.     We  passed  on  rapidly,  but  were  pur- 
sued rapidly.     He  rode  a  powerful  steed,  and  soon  began 
to  gain  upon  us.     Francesca  trembled  ;  I  almost  despaired 
of  escape.     His  horse  snorted  on  our  shoulders.     Suddenly 
I  whirled  round.     I  could  have  shot  him  dead  that  moment, 
but  I  knew  it  was   needless.     I  will  not   shed   blood,   I 
thought,  now ;  if  I  kill  him  I  shall  be  pursued  as  a  mur- 
derer and  taken.     What  will  then  become  of  Francesca? 
This  reasoning  seems  the  result  of  cool  and  profound  cal- 
culation.    It  was  the  instinctive  wisdom  of  the  instant. 
It  was  the  thought  of  less  than  half  a  second.     As  he  was 
close  upon  me,  evidently  wondering  why  I  had  ceased  to 
gallop,  I  fired  and  his  horse  fell  dead.     The  bullet  had 
entered  his  brain.     Dom  Balthazar  tumbled  heavily  to  the 
ground.    I  heard  him  groan.    We  rode  on  all  night,  and 
the  next  were  in  Loudon. 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     263 


CHAPTER    XX 11. 

0  London,  thou  vast  and  terrible  desert,  how  shall  I 
describe  thee  ? — to  the  duke  rolling  in  wealth  a  Paradise 
— to  the  pauper  empty  of  purse  a  wilderness  more  blank 
than  El  Sahara.  Here  the  extremes  of  riches  and  poverty 
meet ;  here  they  jostle  every  moment.  In  one  room  I  see 
gold  flung  about  like  ditch  water;  that  young  spendthrift 
has  just  succeeded  to  the  accumulation  of  fifty  years  of 
fraud  and  meanness,  and  depravity.  He  has  surrounded 
himself  with  every  incentive  to  vice  ;  loose  women,  jocke3's, 
prize-fighters,  tailors  and  decorators.  He  drinks  up  the 
most  expensive  wines;  he  feeds  only  on  the  most  costly 
dishes.  Yet  is  he  at  heart  one  of  the  dirtiest  and  most 
despicable  fellows  that  poisons  the  atmosphere  he  breathes. 
His  soul  is  as  small  as  that  of  a  toad ;  his  heart  as  base 
and  sneaking  as  that  of  a  polecat.  Fortune  seems  to  have 
filled  his  pockets  with  her  favors,  as  if  in  derision  of  those 
who  think  gold  the  chief  blessing  of  mortals.  He  can 
scarcely  write  his  name ;  he  is  almost  unable  to  read  the 
most  ordinary  volume;  he  is  deplorably  ignorant  of  all 
things  but  that  gold  is  power  and  that  money  is  luxury.  He 
knows  only  the  vilest  wretches — for  no  others  will  con- 
taminate themselves  by  contact  with  a  fellow  who  has  no 
recommendation  but  his  estate — and  seeing  in  them  habitual 
baseness  and  subserviency,  he  thinks  all  mankind  are  of  the 
same  mould ;  and  he  disbelieves  in  virtue,  because  he  has 
never  observed  it  in  his  own  select  society.  If  you  read 
his  mind,  you  will  be  amazed  to  find  it  all  a  blank — nor  is 
the  page  white,  as  most  blank  pages  are;  but  it  is  all  dirt 
and  filth,  and  smuttiness.  Yet  he  spends  ten  thousand 
yearly  in  ordure ;  and  London  is  the  home  for  him.  Could 
it  but  last  forever,  how  glorious  would  his  condition  be  1 

Come  now  with  me  into  the  opposite  end  of  London. 


264-  EDWARD    WOBTLEY     MONTAGIT*;; 

Let  us  climb  up  this  narrow  flight  of  staii's,  which  creaks 
at  every  step.  The  smell  is  dreadful ;  put  thy  kerchief  to 
thy  nose,  and  let  it  be  well  perfumed,  or  I  shall  never  get 
thee  to  the  garret.  Let  us  knock  and  enter.  A  miserable 
pallet  is  on  the  floor ;  a  few  books  are  strewed  about,  there 
is  a  dying  ember  in  the  fire;  the  rain  and  cold  outside 
pierce  through  these  crazy  walls  of  misery.  The  air  is  con- 
fined ;  the  window  must  not  be  opened,  or  the  east  wind 
will  penetrate  with  still  greater  force,  and  kill  the  occupants. 
Alas !  they  are  already  half  dead  with  every  privation. 
These  people  have  known  want  for  years ;  they  are  dying 
of  starvation  and  blood-poisoning,  and  heart-sickness. 
The  man  is  a  scholar,  a  critic,  perhaps  a  poet  filled  with  the 
finest  spirit  of  genius.  He  shone  at  his  university ;  the 
greatest  triumphs  were  predicted  for  him.  He  came  to 
London,  and  here  he  is.  He  is  the  miserable  drudge  of 
booksellers.  He  can  get  no  honest  employment ;  he  is 
obliged  to  take  up  with  the  meanest.  He  is  a  bookseller's 
hack.  He  goes  through  every  phase  of  wretchedness.  Oh! 
that  his  father  had  but  apprenticed  him  to  a  trade — had 
made  him  a  shoe-black,  or  a  sweep.  His  life  would  have 
been  happier  than  it  is  now.  He  sits  late  into  the  night 
and  writes  a  piece.  He  passes  the  whole  of  the  following 
day  ill  hawking  it  from  shop  to  shop.  In  some  he  meets 
with  ribaldr}"^,  in  others  savage  rudeness,  in  all  contempt. 
He  crawls  home  at  night,  miserable,  heartbroken,  cowardly, 
scorning  himself  and  life,  and  praying  for  the  hand  of  death 
to  release  him  from  life  and  London.  Thank  heaven  it 
will  soon  come,  and  he  shall  beg  from  booksellers  no  more. 

Such  were  my  reflections  after  two  or  three  months'  resi- 
dence in  London,  and  while  I  was  yet  a  sort  of  outcast.  I 
felt  their  bitterness  then,  and  I  recognize  their  truth  still. 
But  let  me  go  back. 

When  I  arrived  in  London,  I  rode  straight  to  an  old- 
fashioned  inn  enough — the  Tabard,  in  Southwark.     I  de- 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      265 

livered  over  my  Francesca  to  the  landlady,  who  behaved 
•with  as  much  kindness  as  usually  belongs  to  a  landlady  in 
an  inn ;  and  after  seeing  our  horses  stabled,  we  supped  and 
separated  for  the  night.  Our  hostess  suspected,  and  half 
hinted  our  elopement,  and  we  did  not  deny  it.  Of  what 
use  could  it  be  to  do  so  ?  This  interested  her  in  our  wel- 
fare,— all  women  like  to  be  mixed  up  in  an  intrigue.  Next 
day  I  sold  the  horses.  They  were  honestly  worth  ten 
guineas  each,  but  I  got  only  three  guineas  for  the  two. 
The  landlord  introduced  me  to  a  very  pious  dealer,  and 
tlie  very  pious  dealer  was  so  conscientious  that  he  would 
not  bid  for  tliem  himself  without  consulting  his  foreman ; 
and  the  foreman  thought  them  such  wretched  animals,  that 
he  advised  his  master  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  them, 
lest  they  should  die  on  his  hands  before  the  week  was  over; 
and  I  was  half  persuaded  myself  that  what  they  said  was 
true,  and  should  have  probably  given  them  away  as  it  is 
said  for  a  song,  had  not  the  landlord  again  good-naturedly 
pressed  the  matter  on  the  dealer,  and  the  bargain  was  at 
length  made,  greatly  to  my  satisfaction,  and  that  of  my 
worthy  landlord  too,  whom  I  treated  with  a  bottle  of  wine 
on  the  occasion.  But  my  landlord's  good  nature  did  not 
end  here,  for  he  was  so  apprehensive  that  his  friend  the 
dealer  would  lose  by  the  transaction,  that  he  bought  the 
horses  back  again  from  him ;  and  I  heard  him  a  few  days 
after  bargaining  with  an  old  farmer,  and  saw  him  get  thirty 
golden  guineas  for  the  pair  that  had  been  sold  for  three. 
This  little  transaction  rather  opened  my  e5''es  to  London 
customs ;  and  I  began  to  think  that  the  gypsies,  after  all, 
were  not  the  only  people  who  earned  a  questionable  liveli- 
hood. Well,  I  have  since  seen  mankind  in  all  countries 
and  under  all  characters,  and  I  am  not  much  disposed  to 
alter  my  opinion. 

Methinks  I  hear  some  one  say, "  Master  Wortley  Montagu, 
art  thou  thyself  so  free  from  all  blame  in  this  transaction? 


EDWAED  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

What  right  hadst  thou  to  sell  the  horses  of  the  gypsies  ? 
"Were  they  not  in  fact  stolen  ware  ?  and  wert  not  thou  at 
this  very  moment  liable  to  be  hanged  for  felony  ?"  I  admit 
I  was.  I  half  wish  I  had  been.  I  should  have  escaped 
many  sorrows,  and  shed  a  novel  lustre  on  our  genealogical 
tree.  But  1  reconciled  the  theft  to  my  conscience  in  this 
way;  and  that  same  conscience  of  ours  is  a  marvellous 
casuist.  In  the  first  place  it  was  essential  to  my  own  safety 
— and  this  I  think  high  politicians  and  statesmen  always 
put  forth  as  an  unanswerable  argument  for  any  departure 
from  the  straight  line  of  morals.  In  the  second,  I  had  left 
a  gold  M^atch  in  the  gypsies'  hands,  which  was  worth  sixty 
guineas  if  it  was  worth  sixpence — and  this  doctrine  of  quid 
pro  quo  ought,  I  think,  to  satisfy  the  souls  of  all  who  have 
read  "  Father  Sanchez,"  and  the  "  Seraphic  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas," on  cases  of  this  nature.  In  the  third  place,  I  resolved, 
the  moment  I  had  got  any  money,  to  repay  the  gypsies  for 
their  steeds — and  this  I  considered  then  not  only  conclusive 
proof  of  my  perfect  honesty,  but  also  have  found  since  that 
it  is  an  answer  sanctioned  by  the  universal  practice  of  man- 
kind— except  indeed  in  those  rascally  places,  courts  of  law, 
where  I  once  saw  a  very  honest  gentleman  sentenced  to  be 
hanged,  simply  for  borrowing  a  diamond  ring  from  a  jewel- 
ler, which  he  protested  solemnly  to  both  judge  and  jury  he 
intended  to  pay  for  when  he  could.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
did — only  that  as  the  time  of  payment  was  to  be  left  to  his 
own  honor,  it  would  probably  haA^e  been  deferred  longer 
than  convenient.  Lastl}',  I  confess  I  am  now  sincerely 
ashamed  of  the  transaction ;  and  though  I  remitted  a  large 
Bum  of  money  to  Manasam  some  years  after,  which  was 
more  than  ten  times  the  value  of  the  horses,  the  pistols  and 
all  the  other  pillage  with  which  I  had  made  off,  and  though 
the  said  sum  was  carefully  by  him  distributed  among  those 
to  whom  it  of  right  belonged,  still  I  am  b}^  no  means  easy 
about  the  conveyance,  and  I  am  in  truth  very  sorry  for  it. 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      267 

It  is  one  of  those  errors  in  a  man's  life  which  we  all  wish 
blotted  out,  and  from  which  I  fear  few  of  us  are  free. 

My  best  course  would  have  been  to  let  the  horses  loose 
when  they  served  my  turn,  and  to  have  starved  on — but 
even  then  I  very  much  doubt  whether  their  unerring  instinct 
would  have  conducted  them  safely  home — for  there  were  a 
good  many  horse-stealers  at  that  time  as  well  as  myself  on 
the  road,  and  probably  they  had  as  little  sti-ength  of  virtue 
to  support  them  against  t-emptation  as  the  grandson  of  His 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Kingston.  But  I  did  one  good  act  the 
same  week — I  married  Francesca.  According  to  all  rule, 
I  was  a  fool  to  do  so,  for  she  was  entirely  in  my  power. 
But  I  think  it  is,  on  the  whole,  better  to  play  the  fool  than 
the  knave  in  these  matters.  My  conscience  is  rather  clearer 
than  it  would  have  been  had  I  deceived  and  cast  her  off. 
Faith!  I  have  often  since  suspected  I  was  not  of  noble 
blood  at  all ;  for  this  proceeding  was  against  all  tradition 
and  all  hereditary  customs.  I  never  before  knew  or  heard 
of  a  duke's  descendant  playing  the  ass  in  that  way. 

And  now  arose  the  grand  question,  how  was  I  to  live  ? 
how  was  I  to  support  a  wife  ?  An  interrogation  of  a  very 
practical  character,  which  I  doubt  not  has  often  startled 
many.  My  landlord  soon  got  rid  of  me ;  when  my  three 
guineas  were  gone,  and  he  was  quite  certain  that  no  more 
remained,  he  turned  us  both  out  of  the  Tabard,  and  bid  us 
go  to  the  deuce.  But  his  wife  left  us  half  a  guinea,  which 
gave  us  courage  to  face  a  new  lodging.  This  was  modest 
enough.  For  half  a  crown  a  week  I  rented  an  attic,  and 
began  to  look  my  prospects  in  the  face.  I  was  a  good 
scholar ;  better,  I  was  convinced,  than  most  men  who  have 
a  University  education.  I  wrote  some  nonsense,  and  to 
my  amazement  got  a  guinea  for  it.  I  frequented  the  coffee- 
houses, and  picked  up  a  chance  sort  of  acquaintance  with 
wits,  and  scribblers,  and  philosophers ;  and  they  put  me  in 
tlie  way  of  employment  as  a  translator,  at  the  rate  of  a 


]268  EDWARD     WORTLBY     MONTAGU. 

guinea  or  a  guinea  and  a  half  for  every  printed  sheet  of 
sixteen  pages.  This  was  killing  work,  but  it  enabled  me 
to  live.  I  passed  under  the  name  of  Smith — and  a  Smith 
indeed  I  was,  for  I  was  fabricating  bread  out  of  my  own 
brains.  George  Sale  was  then  translating  the  "  Koran," 
which  he  published  about  two  years  afterwards.  What  I 
had  learned  from  my  Gooroo,  Akiba,  was  now  called  into 
play.  I  think  I  gave  him  some  valuable  information.  At 
all  events,  he  was  pleased  more  than  once  to  tell  me  so,  and 
out  of  his  scanty  earnings  as  a  compiler  of  the  "  Universal 
History,"  he  often  gave  me  a  guinea,  and  subsequently  en- 
gaged me  as  a  contributor  to  its  pages.  He  was  a  well- 
looking  man;  and  though  a  lawyer,  honest.  He  often 
invited  mj'self  and  Francesca  to  his  house  in  Surrey  street, 
where  we  became  acquainted  with  his  wife  and  family,  and 
I  sadly  lamented  his  death,  which  took  place  in  1736. 
Here  I  met  another  singular  character — George  Psalman- 
nazar — the  author  of  the  History  of  Formosa.  This  was 
not  his  real  name ;  but  after  the  detection  of  his  imposture 
he  was  ashamed  to  divulge  either  it  or  his  native  place,  lest, 
as  he  said,  it  would  bring  disgrace  upon  his  mother.  He 
was  a  short  man,  with  a  square  face,  long  hair  of  raven 
color,  and  piercing  black  eyes.  I  rather  think  he  was  of 
gypsy  blood,  and  indeed  the  whole  course  of  his  career 
would  justify  me  in  coming  positively  to  such  a  conclusion. 
For  his  marvellous  adventures  as  a  pretended  pilgrim  on 
the  way  to  Rome,  to  equip  himself  for  which  he  stole  out 
of  a  chapel  a  palmer's  robe  that  hung  before  some  saint's 
image;  his  assumption  of  the  character  of  a  mendicant 
Japanese,  converted  to  Christianity,  travelling  through 
Europe  to  acquire  knowledge;  his  curious  experience 
among  the  Beguines,  from  whose  saintly  faces  he  tears  off 
the  mask  of  pudency ;  his  career  as  a  soldier,  in  which  he 
probably  did  as  many  strange  mad  things  as  Dom  Balthazar 
himself,  all  struck  me  as  being  in  such  singular  accordance 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     269 

with  what  I  know  of  the  Zingari  life,  that  I  entertained 
little  doubt  at  that  time,  and  have  none  now,  that  lie  was 
of  the  true  Galore  breed.  Like  them,  he  knew  many  lan- 
guages, and  had  mingled  in  almost  every  order  of  human 
life ;  and  I  think  his  silence  on  his  origin,  birthplace,  and 
family  name  may  be  viewed  as  strongly  confirming  the 
notion  that  he  was  an  offshoot  of  this  strange  people ;  who 
give  (as  I  know)  more  Jesuits,  Generals,  and  Cardinals  to 
the  world  than  would  readily  be  believed. 

Sale  was  a  lazy  man — as  laz}"^  and  careless  as  Steele  him- 
self— and  though  he  had  undertaken  to  furnish  the  book- 
sellers with  a  dozen  sheets  a  month,  he  in  fact  did  not  sup- 
ply more  than  one  or  two.  He  was,  therefore,  forced  to 
have  recourse  to  "  understrappers,"  and  of  this  honorable 
confraternity  I  became  one.  His  oriental  studies,  extend- 
ing over  a  great  number  of  years,  had  made  George  skep- 
tical about  Moses  and  his  cosmogony;  he  was  in  fact  a 
Mohammedan  in  principle,  and  was  persuaded  of  the  di- 
vine inspiration  of  the  son  of  Abd'alla.  My  tutor,  Akiba, 
had  half  impregnated  myself  with  notions  very  nearly 
alike.  A  perfect  congeniality  thus  existed  between  us  on 
certain  points;  and  our  publishers  were  of  so  liberal  a  turn 
that  when  Sale  soon  after  abandoned  the  work,  and  George 
Psalmannazar  was  taken  in  to  fill  his  place,  that  worthy,  who 
had  now  become  a  neophyte  of  the  bishops,  began  to  run 
so  counter  to  the  liberal  views  of  Sale,  that  one  of  the 
partners  in  the  concern,  Mr.  Provost,  sent  for  him  one  day 
in  great  alarm,  and  begged  it  as  a  favor  that  "  he  would 
not  be  righteous  over  much."  The  reformed  Jew,  or  gypsy, 
or  wliatever  else  he  was,  however,  convinced  the  worthy 
man  that  it  was  much  more  profitable  to  write  up  Moses 
than  to  write  him  down ;  and  accordingly  an  entirely  new 
tone  of  thought  was  given  to  the  whole  work,  and  it  was 
framed  for  parsons  rather  than  for  philosophers.  But  the 
parsons  did  not  aipport  it  as  liberally  as  might  have  been 


270  EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAGTT.- 

expected.  In  fact  they  were  better  employed  in  putting 
out  their  Johns  for  college,  and  their  Jennies  for  Fox  Hall, 
BO  that  the  only  person  who  gained  much  by  the  transac- 
tion was  Psalmannazar,  who  extended  his  connection 
among  the  orthodox,  and  filled  his  pockets  and  his  paunch 
through  his  zeal  for  Moses. 

The  Reverend  Thomas  "Woolston  was  another  who  be- 
came known  to  me  at  this  period,  and  whose  brief  career 
furnished  matter  of  amusement,  blended  with  melancholy. 
He  used  to  stroll  into  a  poor  coffee-house  where  I  was  ac- 
customed to  resort,  and  fall  into  conversation  with  whoever 
happened  to  be  present,  indulging  in  speculation  on  the 
most  abstruse  subjects,  with  an  utter  disregard  of  time  and 
place.  He  was  a  man  of  great  good  humor,  and  extensive 
learning ;  but  not  content  with  ridiculing  Moses  and  the 
prophets,  he  published  some  desperate  pamphlets  on  the 
miracles,  which  he  dedicated  to  those  right  reverend  fathers 
in  God,  the  Bishops  of  London  and  Lichfield,  St.  Davids, 
and  St.  Asaph,  in  a  strain  of  cutting  sarcasm  and  fun, 
which  was  gall  and  bitterness  to  those  truly  pious  men. 
But  this  ecclesiastical  merriment  was  by  no  means  to  the 
taste  of  our  saintly  prelates.  They  got  up  a  most  dreadful 
outcry  against  him,  and  had  the  poor  fellow  tried  and  con- 
victed before  Lord  Chief  Justice  Raj^mond,  a  wretched 
judge,  who  of  course  was  base  enough  to  side  with  the 
popular  feeling,  and  induced  a  jury  to  convict  poor  Wool- 
ston. He  was  condemned  to  a  year's  imprisonment,  and 
fined  one  hundred  pounds  ;  which  last  penalty  was  intended 
to  operate  as  a  sentence  of  perpetual  jail,  for  nobody  knew 
better  than  the  judge  who  imposed  it  that  a  million  could 
as  easily  be  raised  by  poor  Woolston  as  a  hundred  pounds. 
The  bishops  exulted,  and  the  clergy  were  in  raptures. 
Woolston  was  sent  to  the  King's  Bench  prison-house, 
where  he  died  of  the  jail  fever,  and  thus  relieved  the  minds 
of  the  hierarchy.     But  I  have  often  reflected  with  indigna- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      271 

tion  on  this  outrage  against  opinion,  and  I  do  not  envy 
either  the  bishops  who  persecuted,  or  the  inquisition  who 
condemned  him.  He  was  a  harmless  man,  with  greater  wit 
than  judgment;  but  his  death-bed  was  pious,  and  his  last 
words  were :  "  This  is  a  struggle  which  all  men  must  go 
through,  and  which  I  bear  not  only  patiently,  but  with 
cheerfulness." 

I  was  also  accustomed  to  meet  with  Richard  Savage,  the 
natural  son  of  Lord  Rivers,  by  the  Countess  of  Maccles- 
field— now  Mrs.  Brett,  whose  singular  history  is  sufficiently 
known  to  the  world.  He  had  published  a  Miscellany  which 
he  dedicated  to  my  mother  in  the  most  absurd  and  fulsome 
strain  of  pangyrick,  and  on  the  first  occasion  when  he  and 
Mr.  Smith  (myself)  became  acquainted,  he  entertained  me 
with  a  satirical  account  of  Lady  Mary,  whom  he  abused  in 
all  the  phrases  of  Billingsgate,  and  did  not  hesitate  to 
pronounce  "  a  brimstone  of  Tartarus  itself."  "  Oh !  how  I 
fooled  her,"  he  said;  "by  Jupiter  I  duped  her  out  of  ten 
guineas,  and  though  it  came  from  her  like  her  blood,  still  I 
had  so  baited  ray  hook  with  flattery,  that  the  she-shark  was 
caught."  And  then  he  repeated  with  bitter  satire,  "  Siuce 
the  country  has  been  honored  with  the  glory  of  your  wit, 
as  elevated  and  immortal  as  your  soul,  it  no  longer  remains 
a  doubt  whether  your  sex  have  strength  of  mind  in  pro- 
portion to  their  sweetness.  There  is  something  in  your 
verses  as  distinguished  as  your  air.  They  are  as  strong 
as  truth,  as  deep  as  reason,  as  clear  as  innocence,  and  as 
smooth  as  beauty.  They  contain  a  nameless  and  peculiar 
mixture  of  force  and  grace  which  is  at  once  so  movingly 
serene,  and  so  majestically  lovely,  that  it  is  too  amiable  to 
appear  anywhere  but  in  your  eyes,  and  in  your  writings. 
As  fortune  is  not  more  my  enemy  than  I  am  the  enemy  of 
flattery,  I  know  not  how  I  can  forbear  this  application  to 
your  ladyship ;  because  there  is  scarce  a  possibility  I  should. 


272  EDWARD     AVORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

say  more  than  I  believe,  when  I  am  speaking  of  yonr 
Excellence." 

"And  did  you  write  her  all  this ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  did  more,"  he  said,  "  Smith,  I  printed  it, — I  publislied 
it.  I  let  it  loose  upon  the  town,  and  made  her  the  ridi- 
cule of  all  serious  people,  while  she  fancied  she  became  a 
cynosure."  And  the  honest  fellow  laughed  very  heartily, 
in  which  he  was  joined  by  a  coterie  of  wits  who  heard  the 
conversation. 

I  was  amused  by  this  fellow's  hypocrisy  and  impudence, 
both  blended  as  curiously  as  in  Orator  Henley.  When  his 
pockets  were  empty,  and  your  purse  was  full,  he  would 
praise  you  to  j^our  face  with  the  most  abject  servility,  and 
when  you  had  rewarded  him  with  a  piece,  he  would  abruptly 
turn  away  without  even  saying,  "  Thank  ye,"  and  would 
go  and  spend  it  all  in  a  debauch.  Next  day  he  would  be 
as  servile  as  ever,  until  you  had  again  fee'd  him,  when  he 
would  leave  you  as  unceremoniously  as  befoi'e.  He  always 
presumed  on  his  birth,  and  his  misfortunes ;  and  expected 
you  to  pay  the  greatest  deference  to  both.  He  could  be 
gentlemanlike  when  lie  pleased,  but  he  seldom  did  please, 
and  he  was  more  in  his  native  element  when  he  was  coarse 
and  vulgar.  In  practice,  he  despised  and  laughed  at  all 
morality,  virtue  and  honor ;  theoretically  he  was  a  Socrates 
or  Plato,  and  he  would  gurgle  forth  the  finest  sentiments 
of  temperance  when  drunken  uess  made  him  even  incapable 
of  walking.  On  the  whole,  he  was  a  very  worthless,  lying 
fellow,  and  Samuel  Johnson  has  disgraced  himself  and 
literature  by  condescending  to  be  his  paueygrist,  while  he  has 
offered  an  outrage  to  decency  by  glossing  over  the  fellow's 
vices  with  an  excuse  or  a  palliation,  which  all  similar  ras- 
cals will  not  fail  to  copy,  and  even  defend  under  so  emi- 
nent an  authority. 

I  saw  something,  too,  of  Theophilus  Gibber,  a  son  of  the 
old  player,  and  a  most  abandoned  reprobate.     He  dabbled 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     273 

in  literature,  but  was  half  his  time  hunted  by  bailiffs,  and 
he  has  been  more  than  once  arrested  on  the  stage ;  for  he 
had  some  histrionic  talent  which  he  might  have  profitably 
exercised,  but  his  dissipated  habits  exhausted  all  he  got. 
He  married  a  most  lovely  woman,  a  sister  of  Dr.  Arne,  and 
like  him,  remarkable  for  musical  talent,  but  though  she 
earned  a  large  sum  by  her  acting,  he  sold  her  to  a  man  of 
fortune  named  Sloper ;  and  when  he  subsequently  brought 
an  action  against  him,  and  laid  his  damages  at  five  thousand 
pounds,  a  jury  appreciating  his  rascality  at  its  proper 
value,  gave  him  the  munificent  sum  of  ten  pounds,  so  that 
he  lost  one  of  the  finest  women  in  the  world  for  a  few  paltry 
shillings,  and  while  he  covered  himself  with  infamy,  realized 
the  fable  of  the  fool  who  cut  open  his  goose,  and  for  golden 
eggs  found  only — disappointment.  He  and  Savage  were 
fellows  of  the  same  kind,  wlio  would  have  stuck  at  nothing 
for  money.  Gibber  was  drowned  crossing  the  Irish  Chan- 
nel, and  Savage  ought  to  have  been  hanged,  and  would 
have  been,  only  that  Justice  Page  outraged  all  decency  by 
his  charge  to  the  jury  on  his  trial  for  the  murder  of  Sin- 
clair, and  that  Savage  had  a  half  sister — Miss  Brett — wlio 
saved  him.  Old  Mandeville,  also,  the  author  of  the  Fable 
of  the  Bees,  took  a  sort  of  liking  to  me,  and  often  accom- 
panied me  home.  He  described  Addison  as  a  "  parson  in 
a  tye  wig,"  but  he  was  himself  a  sly  old  rogue,  and  though 
he  affected  the  austerity  of  a  philosopher,  I  have  seen  him 
stealing  up  Drury  Lane  at  night,  after  a  tawdry  bit  of 
finery  and  paint  in  that  modest  neighborhood. 

London  was  at  this  time  deluged  with  periodical  publi- 
cations, for  most  of  which  Sale  wrote,  and  he  had  given 
me  a  sort  of  introduction  to  the  booksellers.  There  was 
the  Craftsman,  wiiich  was  great  against  the  Whigs;  there 
was  the  London  Journal,  Fog^s  Journal,  Grub  Street  Jour- 
nal,  Weekly  Register,  Universal  Spectator,  Free  Briton, 
British  Journal^  Daily  Couranty  and  Reed's  Journal,  the 
18 


274     BDWABD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

whole,  or  the  greater  part,  of  which  dealt  in  politics,  scan- 
dal and  lampooneiy,  for  whose  perpetual  production  there 
was  one  of  the  finest  bodies  of  literary  laborers  that  could 
be  got  together.  These  were  principally  the  countrymen 
of  that  great  patriot  Bute,  and  they  came  to  England  with 
equally  noble  views,  and  earned  money  by  similar  exalted 
practices.  There  was  scarcely  any  kind  of  prostitution  to 
which  they  would  not  submit,  so  long  as  it  brought  in  "  the 
bawbees."  Need  I  mention  Swinton  and  Mitchell,  and 
Campbell,  and  the  notorious  Bower,  who  was  alternately  a 
Jesuit,  an  atheist,  a  protestant,  a  quaker,  and  a  Jesuit 
again,  as  it  suited  his  purposes,  and  who  cheated  the  pub- 
lishers of  the  Universal  History  out  of  no  less  than  £300, 
while  he  pillaged  tailors,  and  plundered  landladies  with  the 
most  glorious  defiance  of  honesty.  There  was  Stephen 
Duck,  who  from  a  thresher  became  a  poet,  and  penned  the 
most  ridiculous  verses,  which  got  him  a  pension  of  £30  a 
ytar  from  pious,  good  Queen  Caroline.  He  supplied  some 
of  these  journals  with  poetry,  and  the  stanzas  seem  to  have 
been  written  with  a  flail.  There  was  Eustace  Budgell,  who 
began  his  career  under  the  infamous  Lord  Wharton,  (the 
father  of  the  Duke,)  and  who  having  amassed  a  fortune  by 
the  most  discreditable  arts,  lost  it  all  in  one  day  by  the 
failure  of  the  South  Sea  Scheme.  He  was  now  libelling 
Walpole  with  the  most  ferocious  bitterness,  and  receiving 
bribes  from  the  old  Duchess  of  Marlborough  for  his  shock- 
ing slanders  on  the  party  who  had  displaced  her  old  traitor 
of  a  duke.  Oldmixon  was  on  the  other  side,  and  was  ridi- 
culing the  Tories  with  unflagging  bitterness,  for  which  he 
was  subsequently  rewarded  by  a  post  under  government. 
He  wrote  the  life  of  Arthur  Mainwaring,  the  first  keeper 
of  poor  Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  would  have  penned  the  life  of  a 
hangman  if  he  could  have  got  money  by  the  job.  Welsted 
was  also  in  the  employ  of  Walpole ;  an  indefatigable  scrib- 
bler of  political  trash.     Ned  Ward,  who  kept  a  public  house 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      275 

in  Moorfields,  was  an  imitator  of  Butler,  and  a  desperate 
antagonist  of  the  Low  Church  Whigs,  which  drew  a  great 
number  of  customers  to  his  house,  so  that  he  derived  equal 
profit  from  his  beer  and  brains.  Defoe — but  why  go  on  ? 
I  saw  and  lived  with  these  gentlemen  who  constituted  all 
the  lower  empire  of  letters ;  Pope  and  a  few  others  being 
at  the  supreme  head,  and  hated  and  abused  in  every  form 
of  satire  by  these,  the  writhing  wretched  extremity. 

One  morning  Sale  sent  for  me  in  a  hurry,  "  Smith," 
said  he,  "  I  find  I  can  have  little  or  no  emplo3^ment  at 
which  I  can  profitably  put  you  for  some  time.  This  vaga- 
bond Psalmannazar  and  his  canting  set  have  undermined, 
and  underbid  me.  We  must  therefore  see  what  is  to  be 
done  with  Curll,  who  is  always  ready  to  take  on  new  hands. 
His  pay  is  not  much,  but  it  is  certain." 

We  went  and  found  the  bookseller  behind  his  counter  in 
Rose  Street,  Covent  Garden.  From  all  I  had  heard  of  him, 
I  was  prepared  to  see  in  him  rather  a  low  sort  of  rascal, 
but  he  was  not  so.  He  had  light  gray  eyes,  not  unpleas- 
ing,  only  that  they  were  enormously  large  and  projecting ; 
he  was  purblind,  and  splay-footed,  but  his  manner  was 
smooth,  and  not  without  a  certain  polish.  After  an  intro- 
duction, and  some  commonplace  remarks.  Sale  mentioned 
the  object  of  his  visit,  speaking  rather  favorablj'  of  m^'  pre- 
tensions. Curll  asked  me  into  a  room  behind  his  shop, 
and  Sale  waited  for  me  at  the  next  tavern. 

"Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  bibliopole,  abruptly,  "do  you 
know  Latin  ?" 

I  answered  "  Yes." 

"  Any  other  languages  ?'* 

"  Oh  1  yes — French,  Italian  and  Greek.*' 

Curll  lifted  up  his  hands.  "But  do  you  really  know 
them,  sir?     By  Jove,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Curll,  when  I  say  any  thing,  you  may  be  assured 
it  is  true." 


276     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  shall  make  your  fortune,  by  Jove,  sir.  You 
are  a  lucky  man  to  have  cc-me  here  this  clay.  Zounds,  sir, 
I  have  a  pack  of  scoundrels  in  my  employ,  who  pretend 
that  they  know  all  these  languages,  but  when  I  give  them 
a  work  to  do  into  English,  by  Jove,  sir,  they  can  do  noth- 
ing with  it  until  they  have  got  grammars,  and  lexicons, 
and  dictionaries,  and  the  deuce  knows  what ;  and  then  the 
critics,  sir,  by  Jove,  sir,  when  the  work  is -published,  the 
critics  fasten  on  it,  and  in  the  brutallest  manner  prove  to 
all  the  town  that  the  translator  scarcely  knew  the  rudiments 
of  the  language  which  he  translated." 

"  That  must  be  an  annoyance  to  you,  Mr.  Curll." 

"An  annoyance,  sir,  by  Jove!  sir,  it  drives  me  mad — it 
makes  me  desperate,  sir.  I  can  neither  eat,  sleep,  walk,  nor 
drink,  on  account  of  it,  by  Jove !  sir." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Curll,  what  do  you  propose  that  I  shall  do 
in  this  dilemma  ?" 

"  Why  this,  sir — this  is  what  I  propose,  six-.  I  have  at 
present  some  half  score  of  these  gentlemen  at  work  for  me, 
and  what  I  wish  you  to  do  is  to  revise  their  translations, 
so  that  none  of  those  infernal  critics  can  find  a  flaw  in  them, 
by  Jove !  sir." 

"  Nay,  Mr.  Curll,  if  you  ask  me  to  put  out  a  book  in 
which  these  gentlemen  can't  find  a  flaw,  I'm  afraid  you  ask 
me  an  impossibility." 

"  Oh  1  dear  me,  I  did  not  mean  that,  by  Jove,  sir,  I  know 
they  will  find  a  flaw  in  any  thing,  from  Homer  up  to  the 
New  Testament,  but  I  mean,  sir — by  Jove,  sir,  you  know 
what  I  mean — a  real  flaw — a  great  big  boobyish  flaw,  such 
as  changing  horses  into  asses,  and  men  into  women,  which 
some  of  my  writers  frequently  do,  by  Jove,  sir." 

"  I  can  undertake,  Mr.  Curll,  that  no  such  metamorphosis 
as  that  shall  happen  under  my  supervision." 

"  Very  good,  sir,  verj'^  good,  by  Jove,  sir.  You'll  do — 
and  the  terms,  Mr.  Smith  ?" 


EDWARD  WOETLEY  MONTAGU.     277 

"  Mr.  Curll,  I  must  leave  these  to  yourself." 

"  Well,  sir,  the  trouble  will  not  be  great,  and  there  will 
be  a  good  deal  of  work.  Say  half  a  guinea  for  every 
printed  sheet  of  thirty-two  pages." 

I  was  obliged  to  consent,  and  Curll  introduced  me  to 
bis  garret.  There  I  found  about  fifteen  poor  devils,  hack 
authors  in  various  styles  of  raggery  and  wretchedness,  with 
woebegone  features  and  unkempt  hair,  working  away 
silently  at  their  various  employments.  Most  of  them 
were  Scotchmen ;  there  was  an  Irishman  or  two ;  the  rest 
were  of  this  country.  The  pens  moved  rapidly  and  audibly 
over  the  paper  in  the  learned  stillness ;  they  all  looked  up 
when  we  entered  ;  they  seemed  afraid  of  Curll  like  a  pack 
of  beaten  hounds  or  school-boys. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Curll,  "I  have  brought  you  Mr. 
Smith,  who  is  now  in  my  service  as  general  reviser  of  all 
Greek,  Latin,  French,  and  Italian  translations.  So  you 
will  have  to  look  pretty  sharp,  I  can  tell  you,  and  must 
mind  your  P's  and  Q's,  I  am  well  assured  of  his  compe- 
tency and  skill,  and  the  next  printed  half-sheet  that  comes 
from  the  printers  is  to  be  put  into  his  hands  before  it  is 
revised." 

I  could  see  a  shudder  among  some  half-dozen  of  the 
poorest  devils  at  this  intimation,  but  tliey  dared  not  mur- 
mur ;  they  looked  at  each  other  and  at  me,  saying  as  plainly 
as  they  could,  "  WeHl  soon  make  this  place  too  hot  for  you. 
Revise  us  indeed." 

"  I  shall  have  to  deduct  a  penny  for  every  gross  error  in 
each  sheet,"  added  Curll,  "  and  that  is  certainly  very  little, 
but  I  have  too  long  put  up  with  impositions.  And  now 
let  us  see  how  goes  on  business." 

"Mr.  MacAiile}'^,  have  you  finished  the  'History  of  Exe- 
cutions ?'  By  Jove,  sir,  I  want  it.  The  press  is  waiting 
anxiously  for  it ;  so  are  the  public." 

"Mr.  Curll,"  said  MacAuley,  "I  have  hunted  through 
18 


278     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

all  the  lanes  and  alleys  you  have  directed  me  to,  for  some 
of  the  last  djang  speeches,  but  could  not  get  them.  Besides, 
I  can  discover  little  or  nothing  authentic  about  Bill  Slices, 
Sally  Richardson,  Poll  Murray,  and  the  man  who  chopped 
up  his  wife  in  Thames  Street." 

"  Authentic  1  Mr.  Mac Auley ;  what  the  dev —  by  Jove ! 
sir,  you  must  be  mad,  or  drunk,  or  damnably  silly,  sir. 
Authentic  indeed !  Why,  who  cares,  sir,  for  Authentic  ? 
If  you  can't  find  'authentic,'  sir,  you  must  invent  *  au- 
thentic,' sir ;  or  go  about  your  business  and  starve,  sir ;  and 

die,  sir ;  and  be  d d,  sir.     Do  I  live  to  hear  one  of  my 

writers  insult  me  with  '  authentic  ?' " 

Poor  MacAuley  shrank  into  his  shell,  and  Curll  passed 
to  another. 

" '  A  Defence  of  the  Measures  of  the  Present  Adminis- 
tration.' Ah  I  Gleig,  you  are  at  the  patriots  again,  I  see. 
Hit  'em  hard — hard,  sir ;  by  Jove  !  sir ;  hit  'em  with  a 
whip  of  iron,  sir — ^the  infernal  knaves,  the  lousy,  dirty 
scoundrels,  who  pretend  that  they  only  can  save  the 
country.  This  will  be  a  very  nice  sixpenny  volume.  And 
here  is  sixpence  for  j^ourself,  Gleig — only  hit  the  patriots 
right  and  left,  up  and  down,  by  Jove,  sir." 

Gleig  took  the  money  very  thankfully.  He  had  just 
published  an  elaborate  apology  for  adultery,  in  the  biog- 
raphy of  a  certain  great  man. 

"What's  this?  'A  Comparison  between  the  Present 
Ministry  and  the  Turkish  Court.'  Capital !  By  Jove,  sir, 
that's  a  taking  title.  It  will  sell,  sir,  b3^  Jove,  sir :  it  must 
sell.  Let  me  see,  let  me  see — '  When  we  consider  the  present 
abandoned  and  abominable  administration,  which,  to  the 
disgrace  of  England,  now  holds  us  in  thick  fetters,  we  can 
liken  them  to  nothing  so  much  as  that  accursed  gang  of 
eunuchs  and  cut-throats  which  recently  brought  the  Sultan 
of  Turkey  to  an  untimely  end.'  Very  fine,  sir,  by  Jove, 
sir ;  that  will  tell — it  will  seU.     Go  on  in  that  style,  Archie, 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      279 

and  you  are  sure  to  prosper.  They  are  a  set  of  rogues ; 
they  do  deserve  hanging.  By  Jove,  sir,  these  two  pamph- 
lets will  be  a  hit,  sir — a  hit ;  for  all  the  Whigs  will  buy  the 
first,  and  all  the  Tories  will  go  mad  after  the  last." 

He  passed  on  to  another  desk,  where  a  raffish,  drunken- 
looking  fellow  was  working.  He  had  a  Bible  before  him, 
and  he  was  evidently  pleased  with  himself,  and  his  employ- 
ment.    Curll  paused  and  read — 

" '  Two  letters  from  a  Deist  to  a  Friend,  concerning  Reve- 
lations, Ac'  Mr.  Perfitt,  sir — by  Jove,  sir,  how  is  it  these 
letters  are  still  unfinished  ?  I  have  had  a  dozen  orders  for 
them  for  the  country ;  the  fops  and  fine  gentlemen,  not  to 
mention  the  Ladies  of  Quality,  are  all  demanding  them." 

"  Why,  faith,  sir,  I  have  been  living  rather  free  for  the 
last  two  or  three  days,  and  I  could  not  make  out  some  of 
the  Greek  of  the  Emperor  Julian,  which  I  wish  to  quote  in 
the  middle  of  my  second  Letter." 

"D n   the   Emperor    Julian,   sir,   whoever   he   was. 

What  did  he  know  about  the  subject  ?  One  of  your  rascally 
Hanover  Germans,  I  suppose,  who  was  all  for  the  Pope." 

"No,  indeed,  Julian  was  a  Roman  Emperor." 

"  So  much  the  worse,  sir ;  by  Jove,  sir,  a  regular  Jacobite 
and  Papist.  You  mustn't  quote  him,  sir,  in  defence  of  the 
Bible,  or  any  thing,  sir.  It  will  never  do  for  this  Protest- 
ant country.  Anti-Roman,  sir,  is  what  we  want,  not 
Roman." 

"  Sir,  I  quote  him  in  defence  of  Deism,  and  against  the 
Bible.     I  assure  you  he  didn't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  Ah!  Perfitt,  -my  dear  fellow,  that  alters  the  case ;  go 
on  and  prosper,  but  don't  live  freely  again  until  you  have 
finished.     Don't,  like  a  good  boy." 

"And  what  are  you  doing,  Warren  ? — '  The  Parson  Hun- 
ter,' in  two  cantos.  Very  good  title — very  good  title,  by 
Jove,  sir.  Give  it  to  the  parsons — hypocrites,  sly  foxes, 
drones,  whited  sepulchres,  hirelings,  mammon  worshippers, 


280     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

and  so  on;  their  belly  is  their  God,  and  so  on.  That's 
your  sort,  Sam,  my  boy.  Finish  it  soon,  and  it  will  have 
a  run.  And  you,  Butt,  what  are  you  at  ?  Why  you  dirty 
shabby  Irish  brogueanier,  have  you  not  finished  that '  Let- 
ter '  yet  ?  What  do  I  pay  you  for  ?  by  Jove,  sir.  I  will 
send  you  back  to  Connaught,  sir.  I  will  send  you  back 
to  your  potatoes  and  salt,  sir." 

Here  Curll,  to  my  amazement,  began  to  kick  this  wretched 
fellow,  at  which  he  whined  piteously.  Starvation  had  evi- 
dently done  its  work  on  him ;  it  had  broken  even  the  spirit 
of  poor  Paddy.  He  received  his  cuffs  very  contentedly', 
and  slunk  into  a  corner.  Curll  did  not  escape.  From 
some  unknown  place,  tenanted  in  all  probability  by  some 
brother  Hibernian,  a  large  leaden  ink  pot  was  flung  with 
excellent  aim,  and  hit  the  bookseller  right  in  the  poll.  He 
howled  with  rage,  and  quickly  turned  round,  but  every 
hand  was  busily  engaged  in  writing,  and  when  he  groaned 
out,  there  was  a  general  burst  of  honest  indignation  from 
the  whole  of  his  literary  regiment.  Some  of  them  kindly 
ran  to  his  assistance ;  others  called  aloud  for  the  discovery 
of  the  sacrilegious  wretch  who  had  dared  to  lift  his  hand 
against  the  person  of  the  master,  but  the  varlet  was  not  to 
be  found.  Curll's  head  began  to  bleed  profusely ;  some  of 
the  gang  went  for  Mrs.  Curll,  who  rushed  up  stairs  in  a 
sad  fright,  and  caterwauled  very  loudly  when  she  saw  her 
wounded  lord.  Darting  around  her  fiery  looks  of  rage,  she 
sought  (I  would  to  heaven  she  could  have  found)  the  wrath- 
ful Irishman ;  bxit  as  there  was  no  possibility  of  this,  she 
and  Curll  finally  left  the  room,  amid  badly  suppressed  tit- 
ters, leaving  me  to  shift  for  myself  among  my  new  asso- 
ciates. 

This  introduction,  it  must  be  owned,  was  not  the  most 
favorable  in  the  world.  I  did  all  I  could  to  make  my  re- 
vision as  easy  as  possible,  and  I  have  often  read  over  and 
corrected  heaps  of  manuscript,  so  that  but  few  errors  ap- 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      281 

peared  for  the  revise.  I  soon  found  that  even  by  this 
indulgence  I  could  not  satisfy  these  gentlemen.  They 
were  nearly  all  starving,  out-at-elbows,  and  garret  or  cellar- 
lodged  ;  yet  in  their  own  estimation  they  were  the  shining 
lights  of  literature  and  England,  without  whose  blaze  the 
world  would  be  in  darkness.  Their  conceit  was  dreadful ; 
their  envy  of  each  other  quite  maniacal ;  their  scandal  and 
detraction  made  you  quite  wretched  to  hear  it.  The  most 
awful  feuds  existed  among  them ;  the  Englishmen  despised 
the  Irishmen,  scorned  the  Scotchmen,  and  detested  each 
other;  the  Irishmen  repaid  the  mutual  dislike  of  both  with 
alternate  laughter,  threatenings  and  abuse.  The  Scotch- 
men hoarded  up  their  bile  until  a  proper  opportunity 
arrived,  when  they  squirted  it  indiscriminately  upon  both 
John  and  Pat,  but  never  against  any  of  the  brethren  who 
came  from  the  other  side  of  the  Tweed.  Such  of  them  as 
were  not  translators,  by  degrees  scraped  up  an  intimacy 
with  me,  and  we  went  on  well  together;  but  with  those 
gentlemen  over  whom  I  was  placed  as  supervisor,  I  could 
do  little  or  nothing.  The  Irishmen  did  the  French  and 
Latin,  the  Scotchmen  stuck  to  the  Greek,  in  which  they 
boasted  the  most  extraordinary  proficiency,  and  a  Welsh- 
man was  our  great  hand  at  Italian.  The  blunders  which 
each  and  all  made  were  most  ridiculous,  and  I  could 
scarcely  blame  the  critics  for  their  severity.  But  these 
hacks  would  not  and  could  not  acknowledge  its  fairness. 
With  them,  all  such  criticism  was  scoundrelism — yet  when 
they  themselves  dabbled  in  it,  they  hunted  out  the  very 
same  sort  of  defects,  and  held  them  and  their  makers  up  to 
public  mockery.  At  last  the  Irishmen  rose  up  in  wrath ; 
and  one  of  them  said  to  me  one  day — 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Smith,  your  delight  in  discovering 
our  bulls  and  blunders  is  very  great,  but,  by  my  soul,  I 
never  yet  knew  an  Englishman,  who,  if  he  was  born  in 
Ireland,  wouldn't  make  as  many  bulls  and  blunders  as  the 
very  worst  of  us." 


282     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  Why  don't  you  join  our  club  ?"  said  Savage,  to  me 
one  day ;  "  the  expense  is  little,  the  fun  great." 

"  What  club  ?"  I  asked.  "  I  never  heard  you  were  in  a 
club." 

"  Why,  the  Apollo  Club,  to  be  sure ;  the  club  of  all  the 
wits,  poets  and  scholars." 

"  You  have  yourself  supplied  a  reason  why  I  don't  join. 
I  belong  to  neither  of  these  three  great  communities." 

"Pooh,  pooh,  you'll  do  very  well;  I  wish  we  had  not 
many  duller  dogs  than  you  among  us." 

I  bowed,  and  gravel}^  tlianked  him  for  the  compliment. 
Savage  looked  confused. 

"  No — no,"  said  he,  "  I  didn't  mean  it  in  that  way,  drat 
me.  But  come  and  join ;  it  will  be  good  fun  for  you  when 
you  are  in  the  spleen." 

"  Where  do  you  meet  ?  and  what  are  the  preliminaries  ?" 

"  We  meet  once  a  month,  in  a  very  convenient  house  in 
Clare  Market,  the  sign  of  the  Jolly  Fiddlers.  We  have  a 
new  President  every  night,  and  there  are  no  preliminaries 
but  to  be  proposed  and  seconded.  When  your  election 
follows,  you  pay  five  shillings,  and  you  take  your  place 
among  us,  a  regular  son  of  Phoebus." 

"  I  fear  I  shall  do  discredit  to  so  bright  a  sire ;  never- 
theless, if  you  wish  it,  I  will  see  what  sort  of  divinities 
you  are." 

"And  if  3^ou  like  us,  you  can  join.  Nothing  can  be 
fairer,  so  be  ready  by  next  Friday  night;  our  monthly 
meeting  will  then  take  place.  I  shall  call  for  you  about 
nine,  and  we  shall  go  together.  Bring  the  needful,  alias 
the  price  of  your  supper,  which  is  eighteen  pence ;  what 
you  order  besides  in  the  way  of  drink  or  smoke  will  be  an 
extra.     But  we  are  generally  sober  fellows.     And,  by  the 


EDWARD     WORTLBT     MO  NT  AG  IT.  283 

bye,  I  was  near  forgetting — ^bring  a  good  oak  stick.  It 
may  be  useful." 

I  rather  stared  at  this  last  article  of  costume,  but  a  club 
of  wits  must  have  their  eccentricities,  and  this  no  doubt 
was  one. 

The  scene  of  our  symposium  was  a  large  tavern  in  Clare 
Market — the  delicacy  was  tripe ;  the  refreshment  in  the 
way  of  liquor  was  strong  beer.  We  walked  up  into  a  long 
room,  the  whole  centre  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  table 
spread  with  plates  and  glasses ;  the  cloth  was  coarse,  and 
not  very  white,  but  the  worthy  landlady,  I  suppose,  con- 
sidered these  nice  particulars  beneath  the  notice  of  literary 
gentlemen,  whose  thoughts  are  usually  in  the  clouds  of 
heaven.  A  large  chair  was  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
here  we  already  found  seated  Orator  Henley,  who  had  ap- 
pointed himself  pi-esident  for  the  evening.  Amongst  the 
motley  crowd  was  Mr.  John  Dennis,  Aaron  Hill,  Ward,  the 
author  of  the  London  Spy,  Archibald  Bower,  Cui-U,  and 
one  of  his  poets,  Pattison,  whom  he  literally  starved  to 
death,  and  who,  indeed,  died  soon  after  ;  these  trijje  nights, 
I  believe,  being  the  only  periods  from  month  to  month 
when  he  had  any  food.  Morgan,  who  sought  to  make  all 
his  readers  Mohammedans,  and  who  published  some  funny 
works  on  the  subject ;  Concanen,  a  mad  son  of  Hibernia, 
and  poor  Jack  Dunton,  a  broken-down  bookseller,  were 
there ;  hunger  in  their  eyes,  rags  on  their  bodies.  Came 
also  Charlie  Gildon,  who  lodged  at  an  ale  house,  in  Long 
Acre,  kept  by  Bessie  Cox,  the  frowsy  Chloe  of  Mat  Prior, 
and  whom  that  silly  bard  would  have  married  had  he  not 
been  prevented  by  death ;  Amhurst,  the  Caleb  D' An  vers 
of  the  Craftsman,  Oldmixon,  Boyer,  Mat  Green,  of  the 
Custom  House,  Tibbald,  who  changed  his  name  into  the 
more  sonorous  one  of  Theobald ;  Dr.  Martin  and  Russell, 
the  joint  editors  of  the  Grub  Street  Journal ;  Will  Ayers, 
who  called  himself  a  "  Squire,"  Eustace  Bridgel,  and  Mat 


284     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Tindal,  whose  will  the  first-named  afterwards  forged,  to  the 
great  indignation  of  the  rightful  heir ;  and  most  ridiculous 
of  all,  Figg,  the  prize-fighter,  brought  up  the  rear,  but  how 
or  why  he  got  into  this  literary  club,  I  knew  not.  We 
formed  altogether  a  harlequin  group  of  about  fifty,  many 
of  whom  were  out  at  elbows — the  great  majority  evidently 
at  starvation  point.  At  half-past  nine,  the  smoking  tripe 
was  produced ;  by  ten  it  had  wholly  disappeared,  and  there 
were  poor  devils  among  us  who  seemed  inclined  to  swallow 
even  the  greasy  plates,  so  ravenous  was  their  appetite,  and 
so  unusual  the  appearance  of  food.  Pints  and  pots  of 
strong  beer,  stout  October  as  it  was  called,  were  now 
brought  up,  with  pipes  and  tobacco,  and  Henlej'  having 
called  to  Figg  to  keep  order,  knocked  on  the  table  with  a 
little  hammer,  ordering  silence  and  attention. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Henley,  "  are  you  all  filled  ?" 

"No,"  shouted  a  score  of  voices,  "we  have  drank  only  a 
glass  or  so,  and  haven't  had  half  as  much  tripe  as  we 
ought." 

"  I  meant  your  glasses,  not  yourselves,  you  sots,"  retorted 
the  orator.     "  Fill  them,  and  listen." 

This  exhortation  was  joyfully  obeyed.  After  a  pause 
the  orator  began. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  begin  with  a  text,  nor  shall  I  detain 
you  with  a  long  preamble  about  the  Ten  Commandments, 
every  one  of  which  I  believe  you  have  broken.  I  am  about 
to  give  you  the  health  of  the  most  renowned  critic  in  Eng- 
land, the  best  tragedian,  and  the  finest  political  writer — 
need  I  name  Mr.  John  Dennis  ?  His  father  was  a  decent 
saddler,  which  probably  accounts  for  the  son's  detestation 
of  mules  and  donkej's,  (such  as  I  see  around,)  and  also 
accounts  for  his  own  Pegasian  flights  to  the  highest  sum- 
mit of  Parnasses.  1  don't  believe  there  is  much  in  the 
tale  that  he  was  expelled  from  Caius  for  attempting  to  stab 
a  man  in  the  dark — for  all  poignard  blows  are  generally 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     285 

given  in  the  open  day,  as  Pope,  Addison,  and  Steele,  tliose 
Three  Impostors,  can  well  testify ;  but  I  do  very  well  be- 
lieve that  fine  and  Spartan  trait  in  Mr.  Dennis's  character, 
which  runs,  I  think,  as  follows.  You  all  know — I  mean 
have  heard — of  the  late  Dick  Steele.  Well,  in  a  magnan- 
imous moment,  when  the  wine  was  in,  and  the  wit  was  out, 
this  Irish  knight  became  bail  for  Mr.  Dennis  for  some  fifty 
pounds.  Steele,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  soon  after  ar- 
rested for  this  sum ;  our  venerable  brother  was  informed 
of  the  fact.  '  Sdeath  1'  said  he,  '  what  an  ass  he  was !  Why 
did  he  not  keep  out  of  the  way,  as  I  did  ?'  And  with  this 
grand  philosophical  reflection — well  worth  the  wliole  sum 
to  Steele — he  allowed  that  unreflecting  Samaritan  to  extri- 
cate himself  from  the  Philistines  as  well  as  he  could. 
Gentlemen,  there  was  a  moral  grandeur  about  this  which  I 
am  sure  you  will  all  well  appreciate.  But  Steele's  conduct 
in  return  I  cannot  well  approve  of.  For  while  he  affected 
to  forgive  our  friend  for  that  heroic  Stoicism  which  I  have 
already  mentioned,  he  had  the  cruelty  to  cite  in  the  '  Spec- 
tator,' as  one  of  the  happiest  couplets  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, that  famous  stanza,  in  which  Mr.  Dennis  describes 
himself  and  his  brother  authors.    The  stanza  is  as  follows : 

*' '  Thus  ope  fool  lolls  his  ton^e  out  at  another, 
And  shakos  his  empty  noddle  at  his  brother.' 

"Mr.  Dennis,  though  proud,  and  justly,  of  being  the 
author  of  these  admired  verses,  was  conscious  that  he  had 
written  others  very  much  better ;  and  as  he  thought  it  was 
a  very  mean  piece  of  envy  in  Steele  to  suppress  all  mention 
of  those,  while  he  so  pompously  cited  the  foregoing,  he 
wrote  him  a  letter,  breathing  hot  the  noble  indignation  of 
his  soul ;  and  from  that  day  until  the  death  of  Dick,  those 
mighty  men  continued  foes. 

"  Gentlemen,  Mr.  Dennis  has  always  been  proudly  jealous 
of  the  high  consideration  due  to  men  of  letters.     He  was 


286     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

once  invited  to  Lord  Halifax's  house,  whom  they  call 
Mouse  Montagu,  because  I  suppose  he  ratted  from  his 
partj'^,  and  Bufo,  because  he  was  as  ugly  as  a  toad,  in  soul 
and  body.  Bufo  was  playing  with  a  parrot,  of  which  he 
was  extremely  fond,  it  was  so  like  himself,  and  not  paying 
that  marked  attention  to  our  venerable  Nestor  which  he 
was  conscious  he  deserved.  'My  lord,'  says  he,  'as  you 
and  3'our  companion  are  so  engaged  in  admiring  each 
other,  I'll  wait  on  you  at  some  other  opportunity.'  Where- 
upon, to  the  honor  of  literature,  he  left  the  scene  of  insult — 
a  dignified  and  noble  step,  which,  even  if  it  stood  alone, 
deserves  our  eternal  gratitude.  Bufo  did  not  stop  him, 
but  laughed,  and  soon  after  invited  him  to  supper.  The 
wine  was  good,  and  Mr.  Dennis  drank  it — may  I  be  par- 
doned, 0  venerable  Sage,  for  just  hinting  that  thou  didst 
drink  a  little  too  much  thereof? — and  just  as  he  was  main- 
taining that  Shakspeare  was  a  scoundrel,  and  Pope  'as 
stupid  and  venomous  as  a  hunchbacked  toad,'  he  received 
rather  a  blunt  contradiction  from  some  vile  led-captain  of 
my  lord,  who  did  not  properly  appreciate  our  Gerenian 
knight.  The  blood  of  Phoebus  took  fire — our  noble  brother 
rushed  out  of  the  room,  upsetting  in  his  angry  flight  a 
whole  sideboard  of  bottles  and  glasses.  Next  day  Mat 
Moyle,  one  of  the  company,  met  him.  Mr.  Dennis  told 
him  he  remembered  all  that  had  happened  up  to  a  certain 
point,  but  after  that  all  was  Lethe.  '  And  how  did  I  get 
away?'  quoth  he.  'Why,'  says  Moyle,  'you  went  away 
like  the  devil,  and  took  one  corner  of  the  house  away  with 
you.' " 

Here  there  was  a  general  roar  of  laughter.  Dennis,  I 
think,  did  not  like  the  fun,  but  he  sat  still  till  we  had 
drank  his  health,  which  Savage  did,  with  "  one  cheer  more." 
He  then  rose  up.  He  was  now  very  old,  yet  he  retained 
all  the  characteristics  of  his  earliest  years.  His  eye  was 
Bmall  and  fierce ;  he  had  a  squab  nose,  like  a  prize-fighter's, 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      287 

a  mouth  of  iron,  knitted  eyebrows,  a  round  chin,  and  a 
low,  narrow  forehead.  It  was  no  wonder  that  such  a  man 
should  have  a  temper,  involving  him  in  perpetual  squab- 
bles. Pope,  who  always  reminds  me  of  a  flea,  he  stung  so 
sharply,  had  but  a  day  or  two  before  given  to  the  press 
that  shocking  epigram  on  him  which  conveys  the  most 
malignant  poison*  to  the  mind,  and  the  old  man  had 
evidently  been  brooding  over  it,  for  there  was  a  volcano 
of  rage  and  fire  suppressed  within  his  angry  bosom.  He 
looked  as  black  and  malignant  as  a  scorpion.  He  had 
eaten  little  for  siipper,  but  had  smoked  plentifull}',  and  he 
seemed  to  have  come  for  solace  to  the  place  to  be  encour- 
aged bj'  some  of  the  younger  men,  all  of  whom  he  knew 
detested  the  hunchback  of  Twickenham.  He  was  also,  I 
have  been  told,  hiding  from  some  creditors,  who  had  set 
the  bailiffs  after  him,  so  that  he  was  in  the  very  humor 
that  Henley  liked  of  all  others — inflammable  as  gunpowder 
or  naphtha;  and  the  relentless  orator,  it  must  be  avowed, 
had  applied  a  very  flaming  match  indeed  to  this  dangerous 
firework. 

"  Sir,"  said  Dennis,  "  that  you  are  a  parson  is  your  pro- 
tection from  my  just  indignation.  1  will  not  sully  my 
sacred  hands  by  thrashing  you ;  parsons  and  women  are 
exempt  from  the  anger  of  men.  You  have  affected  to  pro- 
pose my  health,  but  you  really  have  insulted  me.  So  be 
it.  The  moon  regards  not  the  j^elping  of  the  puppy  when 
he  bays  at  her  solemn  light.  My  father  was  a  saddler; 
that  is  no  disgrace — had  he  been  a  parson,  whose  whole 
life  defamed  his  reverend  calling,  it  would  have  been  so. 

•  Should  Dennis  publish  you  had  stabbed  your  brother, 
Lampooned  your  monarch,  or  debauched  your  motheri 
Say  what  revenge  on  Dennis  can  be  hadt 
Too  dull  for  laughter,  for  reply  too  mad. 
On  one  so  poor  you  cannot  take  the  law, 
On  one  so  old,  you  scorn  your  sword  to  draw, 
Uncaged  then  let  the  harmless  monster  rage, 
Secure  in  dulness,  madness,  want,  and  age. 


288     EDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

You  accuse  me  of  attacking  Addison — he  was  a  smooth' 
tongued  hypocrite,  as  most  of  your  cloth  are ;  of  censuring 
Steele — he  was  an  Irish  rogue,  as  poor  and  drunken  as 
yourself;  of  vilifying  Pope,  who  resembles  you,  for  as  you 
delight  in  the  butchers  of  Clare  Market,  so  does  he  in 
butchering  every  man.  I  suppose  you  think  3'ourself  a 
scholar,  and  can  judge  of  his  Homer — but  j-ou  are  not  a 
scholar;  you  are  a  dunce,  a  humbug,  and  ignoramus; 
wherefore  it  has  been  well  said  of  you — 

'O  Orator  with  brazen-face  and  lungs, 
Whose  jargon's  formed  of  ten  unlearned  tongues, 
W^hy  standest  thou  there  a  whole  long  hour  haranguing, 
When  half  the  time  fits  better  men  for  hanging?'  " 

Here  there  was  a  general  smile,  and  Henley  looked  rather 
sheepish  for  a  moment.     Dennis  continued  : 

'*  Sir,  I  shall  always  be  proud  of  having  been  among  the 
first  to  expose  that  scribbling  Papist.  When  I  die,  let  it 
be  graven  on  my  tomb,  '  He  defended  the  Great  Prince  of 
Song  from  the  vilest  of  his  imitators.'  For  I  aver,  and  let 
none  contradict  me,  that  the  Homer  which  Lintot  prints, 
does  not  talk  like  Homer  at  all,  but  like  Pope ;  and  he  who 
translated  him,  one  would  swear  had  a  hill  in  Tipperary 
for  his  Parnassus,  and  a  puddle  in  some  bog  for  his  Hip- 
pocrene.  But  if  we  want  further  to  know  what  this  fellow 
is,  let  us  take  the  initial  and  final  letters  of  his  name,  to 
wit,  A.  P.  E.,  and  this  gives  you  a  true  idea  of  the  creature. 
Pope  comes  from  the  Latin  word  Popa,  which  signifies  a 
little  wart,  or  from  Popysma,  because  he  was  continually 
popping  out  squibs  of  wit,  or  rather  Popysmata,  or  Popisius 
— so  that  when  I  think  of  him — " 

Here  there  was  a  general  coughing ;  for  though  the  com- 
pany hated  Pope  mortall}^,  yet  it  was  evident  that  Dennis 
was  about  to  give  them  a  longer  diatribe  than  they  quite 
liked,  and  the  coxcombs  were  themselves  each  so  anxious 
to  hear  his  own  wit,  that  they  listened  with  impatience  to 
any  of  their  neighbors. 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      289 

"  Pooh,  pooh,"  says  Aaron  Hill,  "  we  have  had  enough, 
and  more  than  enough  of  Pope." 

Taneful  Alexis  on  the  Thames'  fair  side, 
The  lady's  plaything,  and  the  muse's  pride. 

"  But  won't  you  allow  me  to  speak,  when  I  am  attacked  ?" 
asked  Dennis ;  and  his  eyes  seemed  flames  of  fire. 

"  Nobody  attacked  you,"  said  Boyer,  "  it  was  all  fun." 

"  Fun  to  us,  but  death  to  the  frogs,"  groaned  Amhurst. 

"Do  you  dare  to  call  me  a  frog?"  thundered  out 
Dennis. 

"  You're  an  old  fool,"  bawled  Gleig  from  the  bottom  of 
the  table. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  my  best  friend  here,"  retorted 
Dennis,  "  for  all  fools  are  kinsmen." 

"  Cut  it  short,"  said  Harry  Gary,  the  author  of  '  Sallj'  in 
our  Alley.'  Poor  Harry  was  a  son  of  Saville,  Marquis  of 
Halifax — he  hanged  himself  in  the  end,  and  left  no  more 
good-natured  man  alive.  Why  do  so  many  good  fellows 
hang  themselves  in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds  ? 

"  Aye,  Mr.  Dennis,"  put  in  Henley,  "  cut  it  short — do, 
please ;  as  short  as  your  own  temper." 

There  was  no  resisting  this  general  outcry,  so  Dennis 
was  obliged  to  go  on. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  you  are  all  in  league  with  that 
scoundrel  in  the  chair,  and  he  is  in  league  with  Pope, 
and  Pope  is  in  league  with  the  Pretender,  and  the  Pretender 
is  in  league  with  the  French — and  the  whole  of  them  against 
me  because  I  did  them  more  harm  than  all  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough's  battles  ;  but  this  will  teach  me  never  again 
to  sit  in  company  with  a  parson,  nor  will  I  die  with  one 
either." 

"  Faith,  you  can't  help  that,"  says  an  Irishman,  "  for  I'vt 
a  notion  you'll  die  at  Tyburn." 
19 


290     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

This  last  sally  produced  fresh  laughter,  in  the  midst  ol 
which  Dennis  resumed  his  seat,  trembling  with  fury. 

"  Gentlemen,  and  brother  wits,"  says  Henley,  as  cool  as 
Socrates  himself  when  his  wife  threw  a  dirty  pail  over  him, 
"it  is  quite  true  that  I  am  a  parson,  but  that  is  more  my 
misfortune  than  my  fault,  and  I  hope  it  is  not  enough  to 
exclude  me  forever  from  the  company  of  honorable  men, 
or  virtuous  women.  For  this  I  can  say,  that  though  a 
parson,  I  am  no  hypocrite,  nor  did  I  ever  stab  a  man  in 
the  dark  like  some  that  I  know.  The  Bishop  indeed  has 
waved  his  atheistical  hand  over  me,  but  though  the  episco- 
pal touch  like  the  money  which  Caiaphas  gave  Iscariot 
generally  gives  entrance  to  a  whole  legion  of  devils,  yet  in 
my  case  it  was  not  so." 

Here  Dennis  looked  quite  crestfallen.  Henley  begged  his 
pardon  in  a  way  irresistibly  ludicrous,  and  we  drank  the 
Orator's  health  with  a  gusto  rather  displeasing  to  the  old 
critic,  who  soon  rose  up,  and  in  a  silent  rage,  disappeared. 

Here  I  ventured  to  put  in  a  word. 

"Gentlemen,"  I  said,  "as  you  have  mentioned  Steele, 
allow  me  to  suggest  that  his  memory  is  deserving  of  honor 
in  any  literarj'^  society — more  especially  in  one  like  ours, 
many  of  whose  members  have  been  beholden  to  him."  And 
I  told  them,  with  a  little  variation,  all  that  had  happened 
between  myself  and  him. 

"  Aye,"  says  another,  "  Dick  was  a  fine,  good  fellow.  I 
was  down  in  Wales  when  he  died ;  where,  as  it  was  said — 

*  From  perils  of  a  hundred  jails, 
Steele  fled  to  starve  and  die  In  Wales.' 

He  retained  his  cheerful,  happy  temper  to  the  last.  When 
he  was  so  far  gone  that  he  could  not  walk,  he  would  be 
carried  out  of  a  summer's  evening,  when  the  country  lads 
and  lasses  were  assembled  at  their  rural  sports ;  and  I  have 
seen  him  give  one  of  his  few  guineas  to  buy  a  new  gown 
for  the  best  dancer." 


BDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  291 

We  drank  his  memory — God  bless  him.  I  am  now  old, 
and  as  hard  as  adamant  itself;  but  I  sometimes  find  the 
tears  in  my  eyes  when  I  think  of  Steele.  He  was  as  wild 
as  Will-o'-the-Wist,  but  he  was  the  only  one  amid  the  ras- 
cally crew  of  what  is  called  our  Augustan  age  of  poetry, 
who  had  any  human  feeling.  To  have  had  even  a  glimpse 
of  him  has  helped  to  humanize  me.  What  a  jest  it  was  to 
make  such  an  honest  fellow  Master  of  the  Royal  Company 
of  Comedians — ^the  greatest  company  of  rogues  and  demi- 
reps I  suppose  that  ever  were  brought  together  out  of  St. 
James's  Palace.  But  even  this  funny  berth  he  never  could 
have  got  had  he  not  by  some  means  got  himself  to  be  M.  P. 
for  Wendover. 

"Another  bumper,"  cried  Henley;  "another  full  and 
flowing  bumper;  and  let  me  preface  it  with  a  story.  When 
I  was  in  Scotland,  last  3'ear,  I  found  to  my  amazement  that 
there  was  nothing  but  rain,  rain,  rain.  Rain  in  the  hills,  rain 
in  the  valleys,  rain  in  the  lakes,  rain  in  the  streets,  every- 
where perpetual  drizzle.  The  universal  cloud  and  mist  re- 
minded me  of  Aaron  Hill's  tragedies,  or  John  Oldmixon's 
operas.  At  last  I  said  to  a  fellow,  '  My  good  sir,  does  it 
always  rain  here  ?'  " 

"'Oh,  dear  nay,'  answered  the  fellow,  'i7  snaios  whiles.^ 
Now  I  found  that  it  not  only  '  snawed,'  but  that  it '  blawed,' 
also — and  as  I  doubt  not  that  it  was  in  one  of  those  Scotch 
hurricanes  our  noble  compotator  Mac Auley  was  '  blawed  ' 
here  to  us,  I  beg  to  propose  his  health  and  success,  and 
may  his  muse  be  always  like  his  country's  showers  in  per- 
petual flow  from  Hel — " 

"  Bravo,"  squeaked  out  Savage. 

"  Helicon,  I  should  have  said,  only  that  you  so  imperti- 
nently interrupted  me,"  said  Henley.  "  Mr.  Savage,  I  fine 
you  a  bottle ;  you  should  not  be  too  fond  of  reminding  us 
where  you  yourself  come  from." 

"  A  bottle !"  says  Savage ;  "  and  where  the  deuce  do  you 


292     KDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

expect  I  shall  get  the  money  to  pa}-^  for  It  ?  If  I  were  a 
mountebank  like  you  I  could  raise  pence  at  will  from  the 
butchers,  but  I  have  to  depend  on  more  unfeeling  brutes 
than  they — the  booksellers." 

"  You  know  the  law,  Mr.  Savage,"  said  Henley,  "  and 
you  must  either  pay  the  fine,  or  give  us  an  impromptu." 

'  Flow,  Savage,  flow,  like  thine  Insplrer — ^beer, 
Though  stale  not  ripe,  though  thin  yet  never  clear ; 
So  sweetly  mawkish,  and  so  smoothly  dull. 
Heady  not  strong,  o'erflowing  though  not  full.' " 

The  orator  repeated  these  lines  with  a  mock-heroic  imi- 
tation of  Pitt,  irresistibly  comical,  and  when  he  had  done, 
he  again  bawled  out,  "  Now  for  the  impromptu." 

"An  improm{)tuI  an  impromptu!"  cried  half-a-dozen, 
who  probably  knew  from  experience  of  their  own  pockets 
the  impossibility  of  getting  a  bottle  from  Savage. 

"  On  what  subject  ?"  asked  this  hopeful  scion  of  Lady  M. 

"  A  friend,  a  friend,"  said  Henley ;  "  then  we  know  you 
can  be  severe.  Let  me  see.  Pope  feeds  you  now  and  then 
— give  us  a  stave  about  Pope." 

"Aye,  Pope — Pope,"  echoed  nearly  all  the  company. 
The  bard  had  made  them  smart  under  his  hoofs,  and  they 
now  gathered  at  his  name  like  a  nest  of  hornets.  There 
was  no  zest  in  satire  on  that  subject  from  Dennis,  but 
Savage  had  been  supported  by  Pope's  bounty,  and  the 
thing  promised  sport. 

"  Gentlemen,"  sa3'8  Savage,  with  a  mock  air  of  sadness, 
"  it  is  too  bad  for  you  to  force  me  to  attack  my  friend 
and  benefactor;  but  if  I  must,  I  must,  and  here  goes." 
And  after  musing  a  while,  the  grateful  pensioner  of  Twick- 
enham's imp  began  as  follows : 

"Oft* have  I,  moved  with  anger,  seen 
Sad  object  of  envenomed  spleen 
A  painted  butterfly  unfold 
Its  spangled  wings  bodropt  with  gold, 


BDWARD    \yORTLEY     MONTAdU.  293 

And  basking:  In  a  snmmer's  day 
The  glories  of  Ha  plumes  display, 
"While  issuing  from  his  mazy  cell 
With  rage  replete,  a  spider  fell." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  says  Hill,  "  that's  Pope,  I'll  swear." 

•'  Indignant  views  the  pretty  form, 
And  spits  upon  the  painted  worm. 
So  Pope  of  spiders  Icind  and  make—" 

** Hurrah!  hurrah  1"  clamored  half-a-dozen. 

"A  monstrous  form,  all  legs  and  back, 
Crawls  hateful  from  his  hole  obscure. 
Nor  lovely  object  can  endure. 
But  views  with  envy,  pride  and  hato. 
The  shining  honors  of  the  great ; 
Till  squeezing  forth  his  poisonous  stoam. 
The  subtle  still  malignant  stream. 
Blackens  infectious  as  it  (lows; 
Heroes  and  statesmen,  belles  and  beaux, 
He  rails  and  bids  the  world  despise 
Whate'er  his  ugly  soul  outvies." 

These  verses  were  received  with  applause.  Savage  was 
vain  of  them  as  an  author,  though  I  think  somewhat 
ashamed  of  them  as  a  man. 

"Are  they,  indeed,  your  own?"  asked  Aaron  Hill.  "I 
think  I  have  read  them  before." 

"  That  is  what  everybody  says  of  your  rubbish,"  an- 
swered Savage ;  "  though  nobody  is  mad  enough  to  doubt 
it  is  your  own." 

"  By  St.  Patrick,"  says  one  of  the  Irishmen,  "  nobody 
else  except  himself  could  write  as  bad  as  Hill,  even  if  he 
was  paid  for  it." 

"Aye,"  says  Gleig,  "  and  we  know  what  Leviticus  says : 

'Says  Moses  to  his  brother  Aaron, 
Your  songs  are  bad  and  beyond  bearing.' " 

Poor  Aaron,  who  was  not  at  all  prepared  for  this  on- 
slaught, remainei  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
19 


294     BDWARD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU. 

"  And  yet,"  says  Concanen,  "  I  own  I  feel  anxious  to  see 
his  tragedy  of  Cinna,  on  which  Rowe  has  written, 

*  Hill  for  his  preoions  soul  earos  not  a  pin-a, 
For  he  can  now  do  notMng  else  but  Cin-na.' " 

"But  we  have  not  heard  MacAuley's  speech,"  says 
Booth,  the  actor,  who  by  some  odd  chance  found  himself 
amid  this  troop  of  ragamuffins. 

"  Nay,"  says  Mac,  "  I  have  no  speech  to  make,  bat  I 
should  like  to  say  a  word  or  to." 

"  Hear  1  hear !  hear !"  bawled  Henley. 

"  Was  any  one  present  t'other  night,"  asked  our  Scotch- 
man, "  when  the  orator  was  floored  by  two  lads  from  Ox- 
ford ?" 

"Order!  order!  chair!  silence!"  roared  Henley. 

"  Tell  us — tell  us !"  bellowed  out  a  dozen  voices  in  reply. 

"  You  know,"  cries  Mac,  "  that  our  noble  chairman  has 
covered  the  metropolis  with  posters,  promising  to  give  an 
impartial  decision  on  anj'^  question  that  may  be  discussed 
before  him  at  his  Wednesday  night  meetings.  Well,  two 
lads  came  before  him  a  night  or  two  ago — I  hear  their 
names  were  Selwyn  and  Parsons — and  argued  at  great 
length,  one  in  favor  of  Henlej^'s  ignorance,  while  the  other 
contended  that  impudence  was  his  chief  characteristic. 
When  the  question  came  to  be  decided  by  the  chair,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  it  was  found  empty,  the  universal  genius 
having  sneaked  off." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  says  Morgan,  "  that  these  Oxford 
boj'^s  treated  our  reverend  friend  as  discourteously  as  Swift 
did  when  he  waited  on  him ;  for  they  say  he  offered  him 
the  dregs  of  a  bottle  of  wine,  saying  that  he  always  kept  a 
poor  parson  about  him  to  drink  up  his  dregs." 

"  Bravo !  bravo !"  cried  MacAuley. 

A  general  titter  went  round  the  room ;  the  Scotchman 


BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.     295 

had  avenged  himself,  and  Henley  looked  black  with  fury. 
Theobald  got  up. 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  he,  "  allow  me  to  address  yoiu" 

"About  what?"  demanded  Henley,  "haven't  you  suf- 
ficiently exposed  yourself?" 

"  How  ?  why  ?  when  ?  where  ?  explain !  order  1  shame ! 
chair  1  chair  1  chair  I  silence  1"  Such  was  the  Babel  of 
sounds  that  greeted  this  question  of  the  oratorical  parson, 

"Why,"  said  Henley,  "if  Mr.  Theobald  had  had  the 
good  sense  to  remain  silent,  no  one  would  have  known  that 
he  was  drunk,  or  guessed  that  he  was  a  pedant ;  but  he  now 
l^roposes  by  a  speech  to  exhibit  himself  in  both  characters 
at  once.  I  hope,  gentlemen,  for  the  sake  of  our  credit  as  a 
club,  we  shall  not  permit  this  foil}'." 

"  Henley,  you  dirtj'^  scoundrel  of  a  parson !"  began  Theo- 
bald ; — but  ere  he  could  say  another  word,  Henley  beckoned 
to  Figg  and  said,  "  Now." 

Figg  at  once  rose,  and  making  towards  Theobald,  carried 
him  down  stairs,  and  having  deposited  him  in  the  kennel, 
(I  hope,)  came  back  as  if  there  was  nothing  unusual  in 
such  a  trifle.  This  summary  proceeding  silenced  some  of 
those  who  would  have  been  refractory,  but  who  after  this 
were  prudent  enough  to  be  still. 

"  Gentlemen  wits  of  high  Olympian  places,"  said  Henley, 
"it  now  devolves  on  me  to  propose  the  health  of  an  illus- 
trious and  honored  Poet,  wliose  fate  is  not  so  splendid  as 
he  deserves,  but  who  will  be  regarded  by  all  future  ages  as 
the  Naso,  Lucan,  perhaps  even  the  Maro  of  the  present. 
I  won't  couple  his  name  with  that  of  the  judge  who  tried 
him,  for  the  two  should  not  be  mentioned  on  the  same  Page  ; 
nor  will  I  allude  to  his  right  honorable  dame,  whose  renown 
will  last  while  rivers  run  into  the  ocean,  or  the  town  of 
Macclesfield  produces  savages.  But  this  I  will  say,  that  of 
all  the  bardic  tribe  that  ever  flourished,  or  rather  faded  in 
the  dusty  groves  of  London,  our  celebrated  composer 


296     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU. 

Richard  Savage  has  the  most  right  to  fling  all  the  dirt  he 
can  collect  upon  that  tipsy  jade  Miss  Fortune.  And  never 
has  the  caprice  of  that  ill-favored  harridan  been  more 
clearly  developed  than  in  the  harlequin  career  of  our  vaga- 
bond— I  mean  our  wandering  friend  and  brother,  who  from 
the  moment  of  his  birth  down  to  the  present  instant,  when 
he  can  scarcely  be  said  to  live  at  all,  has  been  the  flying 
football  for  her  incessant  kicks." 

"Hear,  hear,"  shouted  half  a  score  of  wits,  poetasters 
who  envied  or  hated  Savage ;  and  who  had  not  a  tenth  of 
his  genius. 

"  Therefore,"  continued  Henley,  "  I  beg  leave  to  propose 
Richard  Savage  and  his  health,  as  our  next  and  honored 
toast." 

We  all  drank  it ;  indeed  we  would  have  drank  Satan's 
health  had  it  been  given.  The  thing  served  as  an  excuse 
for  tossing  off  a  pot. 

"May  he  be  promoted  to  the  peerage,"  said  one. 

"  Aye,"  answered  another,  "  I  should  like  to  see  him  with 
his  hereditary  coronet.  He  will  do  honor  to  the  House  of 
Lords." 

"  And  I  hope  he  will  impeach  Page,"  said  Warren. 

"  And  spend  his  money  on  literature,"  added  Butt. 

"My  lords  and  gentlemen,"  said  Savage,  rising  gracefully 
enough,  for  he  was  not  drunk  yet,  "  I  thank  you  for  this 
high  and  unexpected  honor.  Pliny  I  think  it  was  who 
said  that  he  could  collect  gold  ex  Enniano  stercore.  I  also 
have  been  equally  happy  in  getting  applause  from  a  source 
as  dignified; — I  mean  our  reverend  illustrious  chairman, 
and  the  noble  wits  by  whom  he  is  surrounded.  I  beg  to 
drink  all  your  good  healths,"  and  he  sat  down. 

This  horrible  sarcasm  would  probably  have  produced 
bloodshed  had  it  been  understood ;  but  the  great  majority 
of  the  assembled  wits  knew  Latin  only  when  it  was  made 
plain  to  them  by  a  dictionary,  and  the  rest  were  perhaps 


BDWARD     WORTLET    MONTAflU.  297 

too  drunk  or  indolent  to  resent  what  was  a  general  ratlier 
than  an  individual  insult.  Henley,  of  course,  knew  what 
his  friend  intended  to  convey,  but  he  was  for  once  abashed, 
and  did  not  retort.  After  a  pause  of  some  minutes  he 
again  rose. 

"  Gentlemen,"  quoth  he,  "  I  hope  your  glasses  are  all 
filled ;" — ^the  company  immediately  replenished. 

"I  give  you,"  says  the  orator,  "the  health  of  our  great 
literary  patron,  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Suffolk,  an  illus- 
trious prose  and  poetical  writer,  great  in  Pastoral,  greater 
in  Sapphicks,  though  I  very  much  doubt  whether  a  future 
age  will  have  the  happiness  of  knowing  any  thing  about 
him." 

"How  can  that  be?"  says  Savage,  "when  his  lordship 
has  nine  living  muses  to  inspire  him  ?  each  as  chaste  and 
beautiful  as  those  of  Helicon  itself." 

"  Explain,  explain,"  shouted  Henley.  "  I  always  thought 
his  only  muse  was  '  Bysshe's  Art  of  Poetry.'  " 

"  I  called  on  his  lordship  last  week  to,  ahem — to — " 

"  Out  with  it,"  says  Amhurst,  "to  solicit  a  subscription 
— to  beg  a  guinea." 

"  To  ask  him  whether  in  the  last  Craftsman  the  mad,  the 
silly,  or  the  stupid  element  most  predominated,"  added 
Savage,  apparently  pursuing  the  same  train  of  thought, 
"when  the  Earl  began  to  read  some  of  his  most  impas- 
sioned verses.    He  came  to  a  passage  something  like  this — 

'  But  who  can  paint  the  splendors  of  her  eyes 
Which  flU  the  Oods  of  Heaven  with  surprise, 
And  make  Jove's  lightning  envious  as  it  flies  T'  " 

"  Here  he  stopped  and  said,  '  Mr.  Savage,  I  am  not  like 
most  poets.  I  do  not  draw  from  ideal  mistresses,  I  always 
have  my  subject  before  me ;'  and  ringing  for  a  footman,  he 
said  '  Call  up  Fine  Eyes.'  A  splendid  vestal  from  Drury 
Lane,  Mother  Holcombe's,  or  some  such  classic  neighbor- 
hood, appeared.    '  Fine  Eyes,'  said  my  lord, '  look  full  on 


298     EDWARD  WOETLET  MONTAGU. 

this  gentleman,'  and  he  read  some  more  of  this  nonsense 
descriptive  of  her  goggles.  Another  and  another  was 
summoned,  as  neck,  breast  or  arms  came  to  be  portrayed, 
until  I  had  seen  all  his  Muses  from  head  to  foot,  and  com- 
pared the  living  charms  which  they  presented  with  those 
which  Lord  Suffolk  had  described." 

"And  how  much  did  you  swindle  the  fool  out  of?" 
asked  .Bower,  when  our  chorus  had  subsided. 

"  I  think  I  sliould  have  nailed  him  for  a  dedication  fee, 
but  that  he  said  you  had  sent  to  him  a  week  before  from 
the  Fleet,  and  his  last  available  funds  were  expended  in 
releasing  you,"  answered  Savage,  with  fine  coolness. 

"I  vow  it  would  puzzle  Satan,"  retorted  Bower,  "to  find 
which  of  you  was  the  greater  liar  and  rascal." 

"  Order,  order,  illustrious  and  noble  writers,"  shouted 
Henley,  "  don't  let  us  quarrel  over  such  a  dunce  as  this. 
I  remember  seeing  one  of  his  plays  in  manuscript.  It  was 
a  glorious  tragedy,  such  as  Tibbald  should  write  notes  on, 
in  which  Charles  the  Second  played  the  chief  character. 
After  the  battle  of  Worcester,  seeking  shelter  at  the  hut 
of  an  old  woman,  the  royal  fugitiA^e  was  accosted  as  fol- 
lows :  '  Why,  you  black,  tawney-faced,  lanthom-jawed, 
charcoal-browed,  wide-mouthed,  long-nosed,  lath-backed, 
spindle-shanked  ninny ' — which  it  must  be  owned  was  an 
accurate  description  enough.  But  that  rogue  Colley 
wouldn't  play  it,  and  so  I  think  we  had,  therefore,  better 
proceed  to  the  next  toast  on  my  list.  Gentlemen,  fill— fill, 
replenish  grandly,  plentifully  and  bounteously,  until  we 
resemble  the  happy  fly  of  Rabelais.  If  there  was  any  one 
here  who  knew  Latin,  I  would  say : 

•  In  cyatho  vini  plena  cum  mutca  periret 
Sic  ait  Dentut,  iponteperire  »eZtm.'" 

Here  a  tumult  arose  among  the  translators,  who  were 
indignant  at  this  reflection  on  their  classical  lore. 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     299 

'*Why,  faith,  gentlemen,"  says  Henley,  "seeing  that 
not  one  of  you  knows  English,  I  could  scarcely  suppose 
you  knew  Latin — but  fill  full.  I  give  you  the  health  of 
Archibald  Bower,  Esq.,  late  a  Jesuit  and  lover  of  the  pretty 
nun  of  Perugia ;  though  I  regret  much,  for  the  sake  of  the 
cloth,  that  the  scandal  was  found  out.     Hip,  hip,  hurrah !" 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  regret  it,"  says  Sparrow, 
one  of  our  translators,  "as  the  discovery  of  the  amour 
caused  him  to  come  among  us,  and  shine  so  brightly  in 
the  literary  world. 

*  Parnassus  has  a  mighty  flower, 
Which  Phoebus  saw  and  christened  Bower.'  •* 

"  Aye,  faith,"  says  Milwood,  another  poor  hack,  "  but  I 
think  he  didn't  shine  so  well  in  that  affair  of  Lj'ttletou." 

"  What  affair  ?"  demanded  half-a-dozen  voices.  Bower 
got  very  uneasy,  and  I  think  if  he  had  been  near  Milwood 
he  would  have  choked  him.  But  the  latter  knew  Bower's 
temper,  and  took  care  to  be  a  good  distance  away  from 
him,  otherwise  I  am  sure  he  would  not  have  opened  his 
lips. 

"  Gentlemen,"  says  Bower,  hastily,  "  this  storj'  about 
Lyttleton  is  a  lie." 

"  What  story  ?"  says  the  orator,  "  I  didn't  hear  any  yet." 

"  Caught,  caught — fairly  caught,"  roared  Savage. 

"  Why,  then,"  shouted  Bower,  "  you  are  all  a  parcel  of 
low-bred  rogues  if  you  won't  believe  me,  and  I  won't  dis- 
grace myself  any  longer  by  sitting  in  your  company^." 
And  he  left  the  room  in  great  dudgeon-  We  could  hear 
his  curses  as  he  rolled  down  stairs. 

"  Now  then,  Milwood,"  says  the  orator. 

"Why  this  Jesuit  bragged  everywhere  that  he  had  writ- 
ten a  poem  called  Blenheim,  and  as  it  was  a  pretty  thing 
he  got  some  applause.    The  next  time  he  waited  on  his 


300     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

patron  Lyttleton,  he  said  to  Bower,  'But  Mr.  Bower,  is 
this  true  what  I  hear — that  you  wrote  Blenheim  ?' 

" '  Yes,  indeed,  sir,'  says  the  Scotchman,  '  I  did,  and  I 
hope  you  like  it.' 

"  '  And  how  long  did  it  take  you,  Mr.  Bower,  to  spin  so 
fine  a  work  ?' 

" '  Oh !  sir,  I  did  it  all  at  one  sitting.' 

" '  I  should  like  to  see  the  original  manuscript,'  said  the 
patron. 

" '  You  certainly  shall,  sir ;  and  when  next  I  call  I  will 
bring  it.' 

"Lyttleton  turned  to  Pope,  who  was  present,  saying, 
'  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  Our  friend  here  doesn't  know 
that  I  wrote  the  poem  mj- self.'  How  Bower  got  out  of  the 
room  report  saith  not ;  but  as  he  still  understraps  for  Lyt- 
tleton, and  does  his  dirty — I  mean  his  political — work,  I 
suppose  he  has  forgiven  him." 

"Hurrah!"  sa3'^s  Henley.  "Archie  did  well  to  take  his 
leave,  though  I  doubt  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  to  make 
his  Scotch  hide  wear  a  blush.  Another  bumper,  gentlemen ; 
fill  full,  and  drink  the  conjoined  healths  of  Squire  Milwood 
and  Squire  Amhurst.  I  know  no  man  since  the  days  of 
Teofilo  Folingi  who  knows  Latin  better  than  the  first ;  and 
none  since  the  era  of  Thersites  who  can  reason  like  the 
second.  They  are  indeed  Arcades  ambo — which  I  have 
heard  translated,  though  I  won't  say  how." 

Poor  Milwood,  and  still  poorer  Amhurst,  who  was  great 
only  with  his  pen,  were  both  fairly  knocked  on  the  head  by 
these  compliments.  They  could  not  speak  a  word,  but 
seemed  verily  bursting  with  shame.  So  we  drank  to  them 
without  calling  for  a  speech. 

In  this  manner  Henley  proceeded  until  nearly  every 
member  of  this  gay  and  brilliant  company  had  smarted 
under  his  tongue.  I  could  see  rage  gathering  and  growing 
into  boiling  heat,  and  w^as  anxious  to  escape  before  matters 


EDWARD    IfORTLEY    MONTAGU.  801 

came  to  a  crisis.  The  club  was  now,  indeed,  more  than 
half-drunk.  Henley's  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  began  to  get 
more  personal  and  savage.  At  last  he  singled  out  a  Scotch- 
man, who  had  sat  in  terrible  silence  ever  since  Bower's 
discomfiture,  and  was  evidently  meditating  vengeance  for 
the  insult  to  his  countryman. 

"Now  then,  Scotchman,"  said  the  orator,  "give  us  a 
song.     I'm  tired  of  having  to  do  all  this  talk." 

The  Scotchman  made  no  answer,  but  rising  up  he  rushed 
at  Henley,  and  hit  him  between  the  eyes  with  all  his  force. 
The  blow  took  effect,  and  knocked  him  over. 

There  was  a  general  uprising,  in  the  midst  of  which  an 
Irish  bard,  whose  blood  was  at  fever-heat,  and  who  had 
evidently  been  long  panting  for  a  battle,  jumped  up  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Fighting  at  last — thank  God !"  whereupon  he 
struck  out  right  and  left  with  a  noble  disregard  of  any 
consideration  but  the  exquisite  luxury  of  inflicting  blows. 
The  pommelling  now  became  general.  Figg,  like  a  lion 
aroused,  rushed  into  the  conflict;  the  lights  were  extin- 
guished ;  there  was  a  common  rush  towards  the  chair — not, 
I  fear,  to  protect  it,  but  to  give  vent  to  their  long  concealed 
frenzy  and  revenge  on  the  unfortunate  tenant  in  possession  ; 
sticks  rattled,  and  glasses  were  smashed — I  now  knew  why 
Savage  had  counselled  me  to  bring  a  cudgel — groans, 
threats,  and  curses  were  intermingled,  and  I  escaped, 
luckily,  with  whole  bones,  getting  free  just  as  the  night 
watch  entered  to  convey  the  ringleaders  to  the  round-house, 
where,  I  fear,  they  fared  but  badly  until  next  morning. 

How  it  really  ended  I  never  inquired ;  and  this  sickened 
me  for  the  rest  of  my  days  with  literary  clubs  and  coteries, 
which  I  found  to  be  only  hotbeds  of  falsehood  and  defam- 
ation. Savage  did  not  come  near  me  for  some  weeks.  Even 
he  was  ashamed  of  the  rapscallions  to  whom  he  had  intro- 
duced me,  and  when  we  did  meet  he  made  no  allusion  to 
the  fray. 


802     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

One  day,  about  a  week  after  this,  Curll  sent  for  me.  I 
found  him  in  a  small  room  behind  his  shop.  He  took  me 
by  the  hand  as  I  entered. 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  he  said,  "  I  have  had  an  offer  made  to  me 
by  a  noble  lord  of  a  sum  of  monej^ — not  very  much,  by 
Jove,  sir,  but  still  it  is  money,  by  Jove,  sir." 

Here  he  looked  at  me  very  hard,  and  seeing  that  I  in- 
quired as  plainly  as  I  could  with  my  eyes  how  much  it 
was,  he  added — 

"  A  hundred  pounds,  which  I  propose  to  divide  equally 
between  us.  The  consideration  for  which  it  is  to  be  paid 
is  this:  you  are  aware  of  the  approaching  election  for  the' 
borough  of  Bilgewater '?  Great  excitement  is  kindled  on 
both  sides ;  it  is  rather  a  question  between  two  rival  houses 
. — for  one  of  the  candidates  is  secretly  backed  by  Pultene3' — 
than  between  opposite  political  factions.  Money  will  be 
spent,  by  Jove,  sir,  and  votes  will  be  procured,  no  matter 
how.  The  noble  individual  who  has  applied  to  me  is  de- 
termined to  win ;  and  he  wants  me  to  get  him  some  sharp, 
shrewd,  clever  fellow,  by  Jove,  sir,  who  can  compose  squibs, 
ballads,  and  broadsides,  write  letters,  and  if  need  be,  pen  a 
pamphlet  during  the  squabble.  He  will  also  probably  have 
to  see  after  the  doubtful  electors,  and  make  himself  gener- 
ally useful,  by  Jove,  sir,  at  the  place.  I  think  there  is  no 
one  of  ray  staff  on  whom  I  can  so  fairly  depend  as  on  your- 
self for  these  varied  qualifications ;  and  now  what  do  you 
say,  by  Jove,  sir?" 

What  could  I  say?  I  had  only  five  shillings  in  the 
world  at  the  time,  and  but  little  prospect  of  an  immediate 
increase.     Fifty  pounds  was  like  the  mines  of  PotosL 

"  Mr.  Curll,"  I  replied,  "  I  suppose  I  must  do  as  you 
wish.    It  is  a  sort  of  work  to  which  I  am  new,  and  I  fear 


EDWABD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU      803 

I  shall  play  my  part  but  indifferently  in  it.  However, 
needs  must  when  the  devil  or  a  noble  lord  drives — and  so 
I  am  at  your  service." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  see  it  in  so  sensible  a  point  of 
view,  by  Jove,  sir,"  answered  my  patron;  "you  need  not 
be  much  alarmed,  though  you  are  a  novice ;  you  will  not 
be  alone  in  the  work,  but  shall  have  a  couple  of  compan- 
ions, who  are  up  to  all  this  sort  of  thing,  and  will  enlighten 
you  fully  upon  these  masonic  matters." 

"  And  pray  who  may  these  gentlemen  be,  Mr.  Curll  ?" 

"Well,  they  are  rather  loose  characters,  but  useful,  use- 
ful, by  Jove  I  sir,  when  work  turns  up.  The  first  we  will 
call  The  Cannibal.  His  real  name  is  Rooke ;  but  he  is  so 
horribly  ugly  and  fierce,  that  he  has  acquired  this  pleasant 
nickname.     He  is  the  secretary  of  the  bribing  committee 

at ,  and  will  do  most  of  that  sort  of  work,  which  is  a 

little  too  dirty  for  his  employers.  When  a  deluge  of  cor- 
ruption— for  1  speak  frankly  to  you,  Mr.  Smith — is  to  be 
poured  upon  some  unlucky  town,  the  Cannibal,  by  Jove ! 
sir,  is  called  into  requisition,  and  as  he  is  an  adept,  the 
greatest  confidence  is  reposed  in  his  tricks  and  schemes. 
He  has  done  more  bribing  than  any  man  in  England ;  and 
there  is  not  an  electioneering  dodge,  device,  or  fraud,  by 
Tove !  sir,  in  which  he  is  not  well  skilled.  He  it  was  who 
invented  the  grand  mysteries  of  'hocussing,'  'bottling,' 
'buying  cats,'  and  'polling  dead  men;'  and  when  his  friends 
come  in,  they  will  probably  make  him  a  judge  in  one  of 
o\ir  plantations,  or  something  else  equally  dignified,  in  re- 
ward for  his  invaluable  services,  by  Jove  1  sir." 

"Need  I  say  how  glad  I  felt  at  the  approaching  happiness 
of  knowing  such  an  illustrious  character  ?    Curll  continued : 

"  The  other  gent  we  call  Shaveley  Bill.  It  is  a  sort  of 
travelling  name,  such  as  the  knowing  'uns,  by  Jove,  sir, 
use  at  race-courses  and  prize-fights.  He  will  do  the  show- 
man's part  at  the  election.    He  can  speak  for  twenty-four 


304     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

hours  by  Shrewsbury  clock,  and  there  will  be  nothing  in  it 
but  words,  words,  words;  but,  by  Jove!  sir,  the^'  sound 
like  tinkling  brass ;  when  he  sees  the  attention  of  his  audi- 
ence flagging,  he  will  introduce  something  broad,  fat,  and 
nasty,  and  make  them  laugh,  by  Jove !  sir,  but  whether  at 
his  filth,  or  his  folly,  he  don't  much  care.  This  gets  votes, 
and  this,  by  Jove !  sir,  is  his  vocation.  He  can  laugh  like 
a  horse,  and  tell  lies  like  an  Austrian  ambassador;  you 
should  have  seen  him  at  Coventry  last  election;  he  can 
drink,  smoke,  and  jollify  with  the  greatest  blackguards  in 
their  own  stj'le.  He,  like  the  Cannibal,  is  looking  out  for 
a  comfortable  berth,  and  he  was  last  year  seci'etary  to  a 
sham  committee  for  an  Oxford  election,  in  which  a  noodle 
lordling  was  put  up  against  a  statesman,  so  that  he  will 
work  indefatigably,  by  Jove !  sir,  and  he  may  possibly  get 
you  into  something  good,  such  as  a  footman's  place,  with 
the  prospect  of  a  pension.  Indeed,  I  have  no  doubt  this 
business  will  be  one  of  the  best  introductions  into  public 
life  that  you  can  possibly  have  —  and  after  all,  my  dear 
Mr.  Smith,  though  literature  is  a  fine  thing,  (here  he  put 
his  hand  upon  his  nose,  and  cried  '  fudge,')  nothing  pays 
like  politics,  by  Jove  1  sir.  Brains  command  their  price, 
to  be  sure,  but  then  a  man's  soul  is  of  more  worth  to  a  poli- 
tician ;  and  the  ablest  head  in  England,  by  Jove !  sir,  tells 
only  for  just  as  much  in  the  House  on  a  division,  as  the 
vilest  dunce,  who  having  no  talent  to  dispose  of,  sells  his 
soul  to  the  minister,  and  gets  a  bribe,  or  a  baronetcy  for 
his  compliance,  by  Jove !  sir." 

Little  as  I  had  seen  of  the  active  world  of  life,  I  had  be- 
held enough  to  convince  me  that,  in  this  at  least,  Curll 
spoke  accurately,  and  I  asked  myself  in  disgust  and  sur- 
prise, why  in  the  name  of  heaven  was  man  formed  and  the 
earth  framed  in  this  goodly  fashion,  if  nothing  else  is  to  be 
transacted  upon  it  but  rascality  like  this  ? 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.      805 

The  bookseller  guessed  my  thoughts ;  and  grinned  at  my 
inexperience. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "to  be  sure  it  is  a  shabby  mode  of 
getting  on  in  life,  but  if  the  good  men,  by  Jove !  sir,  won't 
do  it,  why  the  blackguards  will ;  and  would  it  not  be  bad, 
Mr.  Smith,  if  all  the  fine  things  on  earth  belonged  only  to 
the  knaves  and  vagabonds,  by  Jove !  sir  ?" 

Curll  gave  me  a  note  to  the  Cannibal,  whom  I  found  in  a 
fashionable  street  at  the  West  end  of  London.  He  had 
just  before  married  a  farmer's  ugly  daughter ;  but  he  got 
five  hundred  a  year  settled  on  himself  by  the  father,  who 
would  not  have  given  a  shilling  to  save  any  fellow-Christian 
from  starvation ;  and  his  wife  dying  off  in  six  months,  the 
man-eater  was  now  as  free  and  merry  as  a  baboon.  He  sat 
in  a  room  surrounded  by  looking-glasses,  and  was  contem- 
plating with  Narcissus-like  delight  the  ugliest  countenance 
ever  made  since  Judas ;  for  his  eyes  were  not  fellows,  but 
one  squinted  upwards  towards  his  eyebrow,  while  the  other 
glanced  askew  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  on  the  look-out  for 
a  bailiff;  his  face  was  pitted  all  over  with  the  small-pox,  as 
if  Satan  had  been  playing  the  devil's  tattoo  upon  it  when 
it  was  first  moulded  and  was  yet  soft ;  and  he  looked  ex- 
actl}'  like  Thersites,  whom  he  resembled  also  in  all  mental, 
moral,  and  physical  qualifications.     I  presented  my  note. 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  said  my  new  acquaintance,  in  a  hoarse, 
guttural  voice,  such  as  an  imp  in  the  influenza  would  use, 
"you  have  come  in  good  time.  I  am  just  going  off 
to  Lord  Chesterfield,  who  takes  a  great  interest  in  this 
election,  and  who,  indeed,  is  to  be  the  medium  through 
which  the  money  comes.  I  scarcely  know  whether  I  ought 
to  take  you  to  his  lordship,  but  I  will  run  the  risk.  There 
must  be  no  humbug  between  him  and  me,  or  you  either. 
He  wants  us  just  now,  and  he  must  have  us — so  come 
along." 
20 


806  BDWARD     WOBTLBT     MONTAGU. 

We  proceeded  to  Grosvenor  Square,  where  this  noble 
statesman  then  lived.  We  found  him  surrounded  by  all 
the  appliances  of  splendid  and  luxurious  wealth.  His 
house  was  a  temple  of  the  arts.  He  was  short,  with  coarse 
features,  and  a  cadaverous  complexion,  long-visaged,  and 
long-necked ;  but  from  the  shoulders  to  the  waist  so  stunted 
that  he  gave  you  the  notion  of  a  grenadier  cut  down. 
There  was  an  appearance  of  self-conceit  about  him  that 
was  very  sickening ;  his  eyes  showed  an  immense  depth  of 
dissimulation,  and  his  forehead  was  utterly  deficient  in  any 
moral  quality.  It  was  the  head  and  body  of  an  ouran-out- 
ang,  but  an  ouran-outang  of  great  subtlety.  I  had  by  this 
time  begun  to  read  the  handwriting  of  nature  upon  every 
man,  and  I  knew  what  sort  of  a  mammal  was  now 
present. 

Yet  this  varlet  was  thought  to  be  the  finest  gentleman 
of  the  time.  From  this  you  may  judge  what  its  gentlemen 
were. 

"  Bully  Rooke,"  said  Lord  Chesterfield,  "  I  am  glad  you 
are  come.     Who  is  your  friend  ?" 

My  companion  handed  his  lordship  the  note  which  I  had 
brought  from  Curll,  and  that  illustrious  peer,  having  read 
it,  turned  to  me  with  a  knowing  look.  "  Mr.  Smith,"  he 
said,  "I  find  you  can  be  trusted.  This  election  must  be 
won, '  by  hook  or  by  crook,'  and  I  believe  if  you  and  Mr. 
Rooke  work  cordially  we  may  mark  down  the  place  as  our 
own." 

I  bowed,  and  said — 

"  My  lord,  I  will  do  what  I  can ;  I  have  no  doubt  all  will 
be  right." 

The  peer  stared  at  me. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "what  you  mean  by  'right;' 
but,  Mr.  Smith,  I  know  that  this  election  must  be  won. 
Walpole  will  go  wild  if  that  dirty  fellow  Pulteney  gets  his 
man  in.     The  fact  is  the  spread  of  baseness  and  rascality 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     307 

is  80  much  enlarged  that  every  barrier  is  needed  to  stay 
the  advancing  tide,  and  so  long  as  we  can  command  a 
majority  in  the  House  of  Commons — for  we  are  always 
sure  of  the  Lords — so  long  will  every  thing  be  safe.  As, 
therefore,  the  salvation  of  the  whole  empire  depends  upon 
the  condition  of  this  branch  of  the  legislature,  it  follows, 
logically,  that  no  means  must  be  left  untried  to  secure  this 
great  and  splendid  resvdt.  I  believe  not  only  that  the  end 
justifies  the  means,  but  that  the  means  justify  the  end. 
Indeed  no  man  can  pretend  to  be  a  statesman  who  does  not 
hold  both  as  the  very  principal  foundation  of  his  polity. 
Is  not  this  your  notion,  my  good  Doctor  ?" 

And  Lord  Chesterfield  turned  to  a  solemn,  shallow-look- 
ing individual  in  black,  whom  I  afterwards  ascertained  to 
be  Dr.  Young,  and  who  was  then  in  the  beginning  of  that 
career  of  desperate  sycophancy  which  won  for  him  in  a  short 
time,  from  his  noble  patrons,  the  lavish  wealth  in  which  he 
rolled. 

"  My  dear  and  noble  lord,''  answered  Dr.  Young,  "  your 
lordship  speaks  now  with  the  same  consummate  wisdom 
and  truth  which  distinguishes  every  sentiment  which  falls 
from  your  lips.  The  greatest  statesmen  have  always  acted 
upon  this  principle  which  your  lordship  has  so  beautifully 
and  tersely  enunciated,  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  so 
continue  to  act  until  the  consummation  of  all  things.  Nor, 
indeed,  could  affairs  of  moment  be  conducted  otherwise; 
and  it  augurs  well  for  the  future  of  our  happy  land  that 
such  illustrious  ornaments  of  the  nobility  as  your  lordship 
shoiild  maintain  and  act  upon  axioms  which  may  be  truly 
called  the  amulets  of  wisdom  herself."  And  the  reverend 
gentleman  smiled  and  bowed  obsequiously. 

"  But,  sir,"  I  ventured  to  put  in,  "  I  had  always  thought 
it  was  only  the  Jesuit  order  who  preached  and  practised 
the  maxim  you  have  alluded  to." 

Young  looked  at  me  with  profound  contempt.     I  was 


308     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

shabbily  dressed,  and  eridently  pooi*  of  purse — the  two 
superlative  degrees  of  baseness  and  abomination  in  the 
eyes  of  this  paragon  of  parsons.  He  did  not  even  deign 
to  answer,  but  curled  his  lip  and  grinned  at  his  lordly 
patron,  with  a  supercilious  glance  at  myself  and  a  servile 
smile  of  adulation  upon  the  peer,  which  were  absolutely 
loathsome  to  look  upon.  Chesterfield  himself  regarded  me 
as  one  regards  some  prattling  child  or  braying  ass,  but, 
unlike  Young,  he  was  too  well  bred  to  treat  any  one  with 
scorn. 

"  My  good  Mr.  Smith,"  asked  he,  "  how  long  have  you 
been  under  the  guidance  of  our  esteemed  friend  Rooke  here  ? 
I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  learned  better  under 
such  excellent  auspices." 

"My  lord,"  said  the  Cannibal,  "I  am  wholly  unanswer- 
able for  Mr.  Smith,  or  his  cursed  follies  in  this  respect,  for 
I  never  saw  him  until  this  day." 

Lord  Scarborough  was  now  announced.  He  was  a 
thick,  vulgar  looking  man,  but  not  destitute  of  a  certain 
intellectual  development.  Like  his  friend  Chesterfield,  he 
prided  himself  on  infidelity;  prated  about  Plato  with  a 
sliallow  flippancy;  aped  Yoltaire,  who  had  been  in  England 
a  short  time  before,  and  had  set  the  wits  of  half  the  peerage 
astray  with  his  monkey  skei3ticism  and  frog-like  grimace ; 
and  having  learned  to  laugh  at  all  true  religion,  was  of 
course  a  very  apt  tool  for  such  a  minister  as  Sir  Robert 
Walpole. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  cried  Chesterfield,  calling  a  smile  into 
his  3-ellow  features,  as  I  have  seen  the  sun  playing  on  an 
Egyptian  mummj^,  "  I  am  enchanted  to  see  you.  You  have 
come  about  the  election  at  Bilgewater,  I  suppose.  Well,  I 
think  we  shall  be  all  right  in  that  quarter.  These  two  gen- 
tlemen here,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  Cannibal  and  myself, 
"  are  about  most  kindly  to  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble  off 


EDWARD  WORTLKT  MONTAGU.     809 

our  hands,  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  manage  all  things 
perfectly  in  order." 

"  I  have  just  left  Sir  Robert,"  answered  Scarborough, 
"  and  he  feels  great  anxiety  on  the  subject — indeed,  he  sent 
me  direct  to  you.  He  will  be  glad  to  hear  your  report,  and 
I  think  I  can't  do  better  than  to  return  and  let  him  know." 

"No,  no,"  answered  Chesterfield,  "let  him  wait.  At 
present  I  would  rather  you  stayed.  The  grand  question 
is,  whether  the  end  justifies  the  means,  and  the  means  jus- 
tify the  end." 

"  Whj-^,  that  has  been  settled  long  ago,"  said  Scar- 
borough,— "  of  course  they  do ;  every  thing  is  fair  in  war, 
love,  or  politics ;  and  Jove  does  not  more  certainly  laugh 
at  lover's  perjuries  than  the  country  does  at  the  perjuries 
of  elections." 

Dr.  Young  fell  into  hysterics  of  delight  at  this  sally.  I 
really  thought  he  would  have  fallen  off  his  chair.  A  parson 
laughing  at  a  great  man's  joke  t.s-  a  spectacle. 

"Pooh,  pooh,"  said  Chesterfield,  "Jove  is  nothing  at 
all  in  these  cases." 

Yagrant  as  I  had  been,  and  living  among  vagabonds,  I 
had  not  been  used  to  this  species  of  blasphemous  wit,  and 
I  really  began  to  get  frightened.  For  the  moment  I  began 
to  think  I  was  not  on  the  earth  at  all.  The  nonchalance, 
however,  of  these  two  noble  lords  encouraged  me.  Surely 
the  fires  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  would  not  dare  to  fall 
down  on  Grosvenor  Square  while  they  were  within  its  pre- 
cincts, and  Schulenberg  was  living  next  door.  In  such 
company  I  felt  that  I  was  safe.  Heaven  could  not  be  so 
mean-minded  as  to  sweep  away  in  a  horrid  brimstone 
shower,  Philip,  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  and  Lumley,  Baron 
Scarborough.  As  it  turned  out,  I  was  right  in  my  sur- 
mise. Grosvenor  Square  still  flourishes. 
*  ******* 

Why  pursue  the  theme  ?     The  reader  may  judge  for  him* 
20 


310     EDWARD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU. 

self  from  these  samples  the  kind  of  learned  and  philo- 
sophical discourse  which  prevailed.  The  world  has  since 
had  the  inestimable  advantage  of  perusing  Lord  Chester- 
field's private  thoughts  on  morality,  religion,  deceitfulness 
and  dancing ;  and  though  the  public  benefit  has  not  per- 
haps been  so  great  as  might  have  been  hoped  for,  still  the 
public  must  be  grateful  for  any  thing  that  fell  from  the 
mouth  or  pen  of  so  great,  so  wise,  so  noble,  and  so  good  a 
man.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  every  thing  that  passed  was 
as  witty  and  profound  as-  that  which  the  reader  has  just 
read;  and  that  the  two  peers  and  the  parson  strove  to 
out-do  each  other  in  educing  prototypes  of  their  own  purity 
in  religion  and  politics  from  the  most  noted  characters  in 
sacred  or  profane  history.  My  cannibal  companion  occa- 
sionally joined  in,  but  the  three  were  so  deeply  interested 
in  their  speculations,  that  they  took  but  little  notice  of  him. 

At  last  the  Bully  inteiTupted  them : 

"There  is  one  matter,"  he  said,  "which  I  had  almost 
forgotten — ^we  must  get  Hogden." 

"Who  is  he?"  says  Lord  Chesterfield. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  Bully,  "  I  hardly  know.  He  is 
the  best  hand  at  bribery,  after  myself.  He  has  already 
been  the  means  of  disfranchising  one  borough,  which  he 
corrupted  by  giving  a  shilling  a  piece  for  bloated  herrings, 
and  the  whole  place  was  in  a  state  of  drunkenness,  riot, 
blasphemy,  debasement,  and  debauchery  for  a  month.  This 
is  the  way  to  win  elections,  my  lord.  Since  then  they  call 
him  '  The  Bloater,'  and  he  is  like  one.  He  and  the  noto- 
rious Ganderbill  hunt  in  couples ;  but  Ganderbill  is  now  in 
difficulties,  and  we  can't  get  him,  so  we  must  content  our- 
selves with  Hogden.  All  that  humbug  can  do,  he  will  do ; 
his  motto  is, '  Go  in  and  win,  cost  what  it  may ;'  and  he 
trusts  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  secure  what  he  has 
won." 

"  We  must  certainly  have  Am,"  says  Scarborough, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     311 

And  so  it  was  agreed.  We  found  him  at  a  pot-house, 
on  our  way  down — a  short,  fat,  vulgar  fellow,  with  a  gold 
chain ;  very  greasy,  and  smelling  nastily,  like  an  unsound 
codfish.  I  took  care  that  he  never  came  between  me  and 
the  wind.  He  was  the  exact  realization  of  Dryden's  pic- 
ture of  the  bookseller,  Jacob  Tonson — 

*'  with  leering  look,  bull-faced,  and  oodlike  stare, 
With  two  left-legs,  and  Judas-colored  hair, 
And  frowzy  pores  that  taint  the  ambient  air." 

But  he  was  a  grand  chap  for  all  that.  The  beauty  of 
his  tactics  was  this :  he  made  it  a  habit  to  go  about  every- 
where, and  say  that  he  abhorred  bribery;  and  that  if  a 
shilling  corruptly  spent  could  return  his  man  to  parlia- 
ment, he  would  not  give  it.  As  soon  as  he  had  been  at 
this  talk  for  five  minutes,  he  thrust  a  handful  of  gold  into 
the  pocket  of  the  voter,  and  with  a  wink  and  his  blessing 
departed  to  play  the  same  game  with  the  next.  This  trick 
he  learned  from  our  House  of  Commons  itself,  which 
always  preaches  against  corruption ;  while,  tall  bully  as  it 
is,  it  never  fails  to  protect  every  scoundrel  briber  it  can ; 
and  if  a  fellow  like  Hogden  could  by  any  trick  become  one 
of  its  members,  it  would  support  him  even  though  a  thou- 
sand committees,  or  commissioners,  reported  him  guilty 
of  the  crime,  which  all  its  hypocritical  members  pretend  to 
look  at  with  horror. 

But  did  they  not  expel  Walpole?  asks  some  amazed 
reader,  for  an  offence  of  the  same  kind.  They  did,  my  dear 
friend ;  but  the  parliament  of  Queen  Anne  was  honesty  it- 
self compared  to  the  rogues  that  now  constitute  the  lower 
house,  though  it  did  not  profess  half  so  much. 

After  a  long  interview  Bully  and  I  rose  to  take  our 
leave.  As  we  did  so,  Lord  Chesterfield  handed  to  Rooke 
a  leathern  bag. 

"  Mr.  Rooke,"  said  he,  "  this  bag  contains  two  thousand 
guineas ;  there  will  be  two  thousand  more  ready  before  the 


812     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

end  of  the  week.  The  number  of  electors  I  think  is  four 
hundred ;  we  must  have  at  least  three  hundred  on  our  side. 
You  may  corrupt  the  men,  seduce  their  wives,  debauch 
their  sisters,  and  promise  to  marry  their  daughters ;  if  no 
other  means  succeed,  empty  the  jails  of  imprisoned  voters, 
and  fill  the  jails  with  such  as  are  in  debt ;  distribute  ' sugar' 
as  lavishly  as  may  be ;  in  a  word,  stick  at  nothing,  so  that 
our  man  wins.  Let  this  be  your  morning  prayer  and  mid- 
night orison — ^this  election  must  be  gained  at  all  hazards. 
Now  give  me  a  receipt." 

The  Cannibal,  who  was  a  wag  in  his  way,  received  the 
bag,  and  handed  Lord  Chesterfield  the  following  memo- 
randum : 

"  Grosvenor  Square. 

"  Received  from  the  Rt.  Hon.  Lord  Chesterfield  the  sum 
of  two  thousand  guineas,  to  be  expended  in  the  purchase 
of  three  hundred  English  souls;  and  to  be  repaid  with  in- 
terest on  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

"Bully  Rooke, 
^^  Chief  Chaplain  to  the  DeviV^ 

His  lordship  read  the  document,  and  smiled.  Turning 
witli  his  most  fascinating  grin  to  Dr.  Young,  he  said — 

"  My  dear  doctor,  I  perceive  that  Mr.  Rooke  calls  him- 
self your  chaplain — but  the  title  is  premature,  for  you  are 
not  yet  an  Archbishop,  though  quite  ripe  enough  for  any 
mitre;"  upon  which  he  bowed  us  out 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Animated  by  the  sublime  and  noble  sentiments  which 
we  had  the  advantage  of  thus  hearing  from  this  inimitable 
ornament  of  the  peerage,  we  took  our  leave  and  proceeded 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      313 

to  Fetter  Lane,  from  which  we  took  coach  to  Bilgewater. 
The  Cannibal  was  in  high  glee ;  his  cock  eye  gleamed  with 
a  cat-like  lustre ;  he  put  his*hand  repeatedly  on  the  pocket 
which  contained  my  lord's  golden  prescription,  and  as  he 
felt  it  safe  and  sound,  a  gratified  smile  crept  over  his 
rugged  features,  as  I  have  seen  the  torch-light  play  upon 
the  boulders  of  the  sea  beach.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
stage  we  took  up  Shaveley  Bill,  a  tall,  awkward-looking 
customer,  with  tow-colored  whiskers,  mean,  cowardly, 
malignant  features,  and  an  eye  full  of  malevolence,  cun- 
ning, and  envy,  badly  concealed  by  an  affectation  of  bluff 
honesty  which  deceived  many,  but  could  not  blind  me. 
This  genius  was  at  present  rather  under  a  cloud ;  Rooke 
and  he  had  been  old  pals,  and  the  former  put  the  present 
job  in  his  way.  The  two  interchanged  some  hieratic  sig- 
nals which  I  could  not  understand,  and  held  a  private  con- 
versation, apparently  on  matters  too  delicate  for  the  public 
ear,  but  I  did  not  much  heed  what  they  were  about,  having 
fallen  into  a  reverie  of  thought  on  the  scene  which  I  had 
just  witnessed.  Here  were  two  men  of  patrician  birth, 
with  large  fortunes,  good  health,  and  sound  brains,  and  all 
that  could  make  life  pleasant,  hereditary  legislators  in  our 
happy  land;  yet  they  were  so  thoroughly  impregnated 
with  baseness,  villany,  and  corruption,  as  to  be  wholly  in- 
sensible to  any  truth,  any  virtue,  any  excellence,  and  to 
live  only  for  the  gratification  of  vile  and  selfish  desires, 
which  they  were  not  ashamed,  but  indeed  gloried  to  avow. 
What  wonder  could  it  be  if  Savage  and  fellows  of  that 
class,  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  possess  a  ten 
pound  note  that  they  could  fairly  call  tl.eir  own,  were  so 
low  and  lost  when  men  of  this  high  rank  were  utterly  dead 
to  all  decency  ?  I  have  seen  young  fellows  of  eighteen  or 
twenty,  young  women  with  babies  at  their  breasts,  hanged 
week  after  week  at  Tyburn  who  had  stolen  only  a  few  shil- 
lings, or  a  few  j-ards  of  ribbon ;  who  had  probably  ))een 


314  EDWARD     WORTLEY     M0NTAQT7. 

guilty,  at  the  worst,  of  onl}'  mere  recklessness,  the  result 
of  tipsy  jollity,  or  boyish  folly,  or  thoughtless  indiscretion, 
and  who  had  generous  hearts,  courage,  faith,  and  truth  in 
all  ordinary  matters,  while  the  ribald  mob  rejoiced  to  see 
them  die,  and  my  lords  the  king's  judges,  those  scarlet 
colored  beasts,  as  an  old  Quaker  once  called  them,  pro- 
nounced their  sentences  to  be  right  and  well-merited,  as 
they  adjourned  to  the  corporation  turtle  soup  and  punch 
up-stairs  at  the  Old  Bailey.  But  here  were  two  whom  the 
world  impudently  called  noblemen,  ami  the  law  shame- 
lessly pronounced  right  honorable,  yet  who  in  all  respects 
— but  an  open  violation  of  the  statutes  of  their  country — 
were  as  consummate  scoundrels  as  ever  swung  upon  the 
gallows  tree.  Here  they  were  luxuriating  like  pigs  in  their 
filthiness,  unconscious  of  their  degradation,  and  half  wor- 
shipped by  admiring  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands  of  per- 
sons, who  thought  themselves  clever,  and  candid,  and 
discriminating.  When  I  looked  up  and  saw  my  two  ugly 
companions  engaged  in  carrying  out  the  same  kind  of 
manoeuvres  as  those  in  which  these  eminent  personages 
were  plotting,  I  began  to  despise  and  loathe  myself  for 
being  involved  in  such  foul  proceedings,  and  was  half  in- 
clined to  jump  off  the  coach  and  walk  back  to  London  as 
poor  as  I  left  it ;  but  I  was  almost  starving,  and  I  had  not 
bravery  enough — poor  wretch  that  I  was — to  resist  the 
fiend ;  so  I  stayed  on.  A  base  excuse,  I  own,  but  it  is  the 
true  one. 

We  were  now,  indeed,  engaged  on  one  of  the  most  ras- 
cally errands  that  can  be  imagined ;  we  were  about  to  cor- 
rupt the  electors  of  an  important  borough,  to  vote  black 
white,  and  white  black;  and  by  returning  to  parliament 
not  the  man  best  suited  to  make  laws  for  this  imperial  isle, 
or  to  advise  on  state  policy,  but  the  most  dirty,  low,  or 
piggish  knave  who  bribed  them  best,  we  were  about  to 
poison  law  and  right  at  their  very  foundations ;  and  intro- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      315 

duce  discord,  dishonesty,  and  the  certain  seeds  of  disso- 
lution to  the  whole  empire.  For  as  the  franchise  is  a,  trust 
reposed  in  one  man  by  several,  and  as  upon  the  votes  of  a 
very  few  people  the  administration  of  the  whole  land  de- 
pends, it  follows  that  there  is  no  responsibility  on  earth 
greater  than  that  which  thus  enables  a  man  to  send  a  repre- 
sentative to  the  House  of  Commons ;  for  the  casting  vote 
of  that  very  representative  may  influence  our  destinies  for- 
ever; as,  in  fact,  it  did  in  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  when 
passing  through  the  House ;  it  may  plunge  us  into  a  war 
that  will  entail  ruin.  It  may  involve  us  in  a  dispute  with 
powerful  neighbors  or  aspiring  colonies  that  will  involve 
the  lives  of  thousands  of  men,  the  happiness  of  babes  ^nd 
mothers,  and  wives  and  sisters;  the  destinies  of  unborn 
millions,  and  the  destruction  of  blood  and  treasure  to  an 
incalculable  amount.  And  our  late  war  with  Spain,  and 
our  present  contests  with  the  colonies  in  America,  are  a 
striking  proof  of  what  I  have  said ;  for  they  include  within 
them  as  much  sanguinary  wickedness  as  ever  was  perpe- 
trated on  earth ;  but  they  have  got  the  sanction  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  all  is  therefore  as  correct  as  possible. 

We  got  to  Bilgewater  late  in  the  evening.  We  found 
that  Hogden  was  well  known  there,  he  and  Ganderbill 
having  operated  largely  at  the  last  election :  both  had  been 
reported  to  the  House  for  corruption  and  mal-practice ;  but 
the  House  thought  it  was  a  joke,  laughed,  said  a  few  words 
to  humbug  the  lieges,  and  went  to  something  else,  which 
also  ended  in  a  bottle  of  smoke.  This  is  what  always 
happens.  The  Red  Lion,  which  was  the  head  hotel,  had 
been  engaged  for  us  beforehand,  and  we  were  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  the  Hon.  Thomas  Vere  Cavendish  Plan- 
tagenet,  eldest  son  and  heir  of  Lord  Rollo  de  Bayeux,  and 
at  the  present  moment  one  of  the  aspiring  candidates  in 
whose  interests  we  were  engaged.  The  Hon.  Thomas  was 
a  small,  mean-looking  wretch,  with  a  I'ttle  head,  a  receding 


316  EDAVARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

brow,  the  eyes  and  face  of  a  polecat,  and  a  soul  and  mind  to 
correspond;  but  his  noble  father  had  thirty  thousand  a 
year.  The  right  honorable  Lord  RoUo  de  Bayeux  carried 
gold  candlesticks  for  his  Majesty  King  George  the  Second, 
walking  all  the  while  backward,  but  with  his  face  turned  to 
that  glorious  monarch  ;  he  brought  him  waste  paper,  fetched 
his  tobacco,  carried  billets  of  sweetness  to  his  mistresses, 
or  those  whom  he  wanted  to  be  so,  and  submitted  to  be 
kicked  by  the  royal  foot,  and  damned  by  the  royal  tongue 
when  his  Majesty  was  d^'speptic,  or  was  out  of  temper 
with  one  of  his  German  frows.  For  this  dignified  employ- 
ment he  drew  about  twelve  hundred  a  3'ear  wages,  and  had 
the  privilege  of  basking  in  the  celestial  sunshine  of  the 
coifVt. 

The  opponent  of  the  honorable  Thomas  was  wortliy  of 
the  town  which  he  came  to  represent,  and  the  honest  people 
whom  he  proposed  to  buy.  He  was  a  dirty  broker  from 
the  city  of  London,  of  the  name  of  Johnson,  who  had 
heaped  up  gold  by  eYery  fraudulent  art  known  to  commerce, 
and  who  would  have  sold  himself  to  the  Devil  readily  for 
any  sum  of  money  which  that  potentate  would  give.  This 
fellow  had  sprung  from  nothing,  but  was  now  worth  about 
two  hundred  thousand  pounds.  Now  having  exhausted 
almost  all  the  knavish  arts  known  on  the  Exchange  for 
transferring  money  from  the  pockets  of  A  into  the  bank  of 
B,  he  resolved  to  get  into  Parliament,  where  he  hoped  to 
buy  a  baronetcy,  and  to  shine  at  court,  or  at  the  levee  of  the 
great  Sir  Robert,  whom  all  these  moneyed  men  adored  as  the 
impersonation  of  every  thing  that  was  exalted  upon  earth. 
He  longed,  also,  to  transmit  hereditary  honors  to  an  only 
son,  a  spindle-shanks  noodle,  with  no  more  brains  than  a 
whelk,  who  spent  all  his  time  at  the  cockpit,  and  whom 
this  worthy  trader  regarded  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  With 
these  grand  hopes  he  came  down  to  the  borough,  and  made 
no  secret  of  his  intention  to  buy  as  many  votes  as  money 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     317 

conld  purchase,  and  by  hook  or  by  crook  to  wrest  the  repre- 
sentation from  the  son  and  heir  of  Lord  RoUo  de  Bayeux, 
■whose  castle  was  in  the  county,  and  whose  family  had  usually 
commanded  the  consciences  of  the  lick-spittle  constituency 
whom  we  came  to  canvass.  He  had  already  set  half  the 
public  houses  flowing,  and  opened  an  unlimited  credit  at  the 
Bank,  but  as  he  was  new  to  the  noble  art  of  electioneering 
bribery,  it  was  calculated,  and  not  unwisely,  that  an  expe- 
rienced hand  would  eventually  drive  him  out  of  the  field. 
A  third  candidate  had,  indeed,  shown  himself,  but  he  was 
only  a  great  scholar,  a  most  wise  and  honorable  person, 
who  had  no  landed  estate,  nor  any  considerable  balance  at 
his  banker's.  He  could  ofler  nothing  to  the  constituents 
but  unimpeachable  integrity,  the  purest  and  most  elevated 
views  of  politics,  united,  however,  with  a  practical  states- 
manship that,  had  merit  its  due,  would  have  raised  him  to 
the  administration  of  the  government.  But  when  it  was 
clearly  ascertained  that  he  had  no  money  to  lavish  in  pur- 
chasing the  pigs  of  electors,  he  was  hooted  out  of  the  place 
as  one  of  the  most  rascally  and  shallow  impostors  that  had 
ever  dared  to  practice  on  an  enlightened  constituency. 
Indeed,  his  advent  was  looked  upon  as  a  crime,  and  himself 
a  violator  of  every  thing  human  and  divine  for  coming 
into  Bilgewater  without  bags  full  of  gold  and  a  brain  full 
of  fraud.  So  that  the  contest  was  now  confined  to  the  two 
honorable  and  worthy  gentlemen  whom  I  have  described, 
namely,  Plantagenet  and  Johnson. 

The  honorable  Thomas,  &c.,  &c.,  Ac,  (I  can't  write  so 
many  grand  names,)  was  alone,  and  was  reclining  on  a 
sofa.  A  table  was  before  him,  covered  with  fruit  and 
various  wines ;  and  the  honorable  gentleman,  if  we  may 
judge  by  his  flushed  features  and  staring  eyes,  had  tasted 
rather  freely  of  the  latter.  He  attempted  to  rise,  but  the 
efibrt  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  merely  put  out  one 
finger  to  the  Cannibal,  and  said,  "  How  do,  Cannibal,  how 


818     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

do  ?"  at  which  gracious  mark  of  friendly  condescension 
the  recipient  of  the  finger  and  Shaveley  Bill  expressed 
their  gratitude  by  genuflections  and  prostrations  worthy  of 
a  Dutch  ambassador  at  Japan.  As  I  was  merely  one  of  the 
obscure  rabble,  I  had  not  the  superlative  happiness  of 
being  introduced  to  the  heir  of  Lord  Rollo  de  Bayeux ;  so 
after  staring  at  me  for  some  time,  he  said  to  my  companion, 
whom  he  appeared  to  know  well,  and  treated  with  the  most 
delicate  politeness : 

"  Cannibal,  who  the  devil  is  this  ?" 

"One  of  our  agents,  sir,"  answered  the  party  addressed; 
and  then  he  spoke  lower,  and  in  a  tone  which  I  could  not 
hear  if  I  wished,  and  would  not  have  bothered  myself  by 
hearing  if  I  could.  When  he  had  ceased,  our  host  motioned 
me  to  take  a  chair,  and  rang  for  fresh  glasses  which  soon 
were  brought,  after  which  the  business  of  the  night  began. 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  is  your  address  out  ?"  asked  Rooke. 

"No,"  replied  the  other;  "not  at  all,  I  didn't  know  what 
to  say,"  at  which  lively  burst  of  wit,  Shaveley  Bill  burst 
into  a  large  guffaw  of  laughter  in  which  the  Cannibal  and 
the  writer  of  this  memoir  (with  shame  I  confess  it)  very 
quickly  joined. 

"  Maj'  I  ask,  then,  sir,  how  you  have  employed  yourself 
since  yon  came?"  asked  Rooke  with  the  most  submissive 
politeness. 

"  Look  1"  answered  the  other,  and  he  pointed  to  the  fire- 
place, on  which  a  scene  presented  itself  that  would  have 
gratified  the  worthy  and  independent  electors  of  the  town, 
had  they  but  had  the  high  privilege  of  being  introduced  as 
we  were  into  this  respectable  presence.  For  there  were 
about  sixty  rats,  all  dead  and  tied  together  by  the  tails, 
which  formed  a  graceful  festoon  over  the  mantelpiece,  and 
hung  down  to  the  floor  at  each  side,  like  the  flowing  ends 
of  a  curtain,  the  carpet  being  spotted  with  the  blood  which 
dropped  from  the  pretty  creatures. 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAOU.      319 

**  Good  God !  sir,"  exclaimed  the  Cannibal, "  what  a  sight," 
and  he  began  to  count  the  victims. 

Shaveley  Bill  rubbed  his  hands,  horse-laughed,  and  said : 

"  How  jolly." 

"  Aye !"  says  the  candidate,  "  I  never  had  better  fun  in 
my  life — it  beats  fox-hunting,  which  after  this  day's  sport 
I  vote  low  and  vulgar  in  the  extreme.  Cannibal,  you  shall 
see  my  dog.  You  shall  kiss  him  for  the  fun  he  has  given 
me  to-day,"  and  reaching  a  bell  rope,  he  tugged  at  it  until 
it  gave  way  and  a  frightened  servant  came  into  the  room. 

"Is  that  you,  Fitz  Howard?"  asked  our  host,  "yes — I 
see  'tis  you ;  fetch  Billy  here,  and  be  quick." 

Fitz  Howard  vanished  and  soon  after  appeared  with 
Billy.  It  was  the  renowned  terrier  which  had  given  the 
honorable  Mr.  Plantagenet  such  rare  pleasure,  and  the  dog 
was  certainly  worthy  of  its  master.  Let  us  hope  that  in 
other  and  more  spiritual  regions,  "  His  faithful  dog  shall 
bear  him  company." 

"  There  are  sixty  rats  in  all,"  said  the  candidate,  observ- 
ing that  the  Cannibal  was  engaged  in  counting  the  heads 
of  game — "  only  sixty — the  infernal  rascal  of  a  ratcatcher 
could  get  no  more.  I  paid  him  a  shilling  a  piece  for  them. 
He  should  have  had  a  five  pound  note  if  he  had  got  me  the 
hundred.  But  after  scouring  the  whole  place  he  could 
hunt  up  no  more.  So  I  laid  a  wager  with  the  parson,  Tom 
Fireaway.  My  father  gave  him  the  living.  He  bet  me 
twenty  guineas  that  Billy  wouldn't  kill  the  fellows  in  five 
minutes,  and  I  took  him,  and  we  staked  the  money  with 
the  landlord.  Then  we  housed  the  rats  in  here  five  minutes 
before  dinner,  and  in  four  minutes  and  forty  seconds  they 
were  all  squashed.  What  a  scene  it  was — by  Gad  1  it  was 
splendid — I  never  had  such  cursed  fun  before.  For  we 
stopped  up  all  the  holes  and  corners  and  windows,  and 
the  fireplace,  and  then  the  rats  were  let  loose  and  Billy 
after  them,  while  Tom  and  I  got  a  table,  and  the  squeaking 


320     EDWARD  WOETLET  MONTAGU. 

was  fine.  They  scudded  in  all  directions ;  they  ran  pell- 
mell  about  and  up  and  down,  like  so  many  hunted  devils. 
By  Gad  1  Cannibal,  you  would  have  liked  the  sport — so  we 
killed  'em  all,  and  landlord  and  I  fastened  'em  together, 
and  then  Tom  and  myself  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  I  had  a 
plate  and  chair  brought  up  for  Billy  too,  and  now  Tom  is 
gone  away  to  evening  service,  and  by  Gad !  Cannibal,  you 
shall  kiss  Billy,  for  he  has  won  me  twent}-  guineas" — and 
he  absolutely  pressed  Rooke  to  it,  until  the  fellow  consented 
and  kissed  the  terrier  with  every  demonstration  of  satisfac- 
tion. Shaveley  Bill,  scorning  to  be  outdone  in  any  thing, 
performed  the  like  feat,  ejaculating  as  he  did  so,  "  how 
jolly." 

Mr.  Plantagenet  looked  next  at  me,  but  I  would  not  take 
the  hint. 

"  Canny,"  said  he,  in  a  half  whisper  to  the  Cannibal, 
"your  friend  seems  an  infernal  ass — don't  he?"  and  he 
disdained  to  take  any  further  notice  of  me  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening. 

Pens,  ink,  and  paper  were  called  for,  and  Rooke  and 
Bill,  sitting  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  began  to  put 
down  various  hints  and  sentences,  and  after  about  an  hour's 
work,  in  which  thej'  occasionally  consulted  me,  (the  honor-, 
able  candidate  was  fast  asleep  during  the  whole  period,) 
the  following  address  was  produced,  and  when  it  was  fairly 
copied,  Rooke  hummed  loudly,  which  waked  up  Mr.  Plan- 
tagenet, who  said — 

"  Why  did  you  wake  me  ?  I  was  having  a  pleasant 
snooze." 

"  Sir,"  answered  Rooke,  "  we  have  concocted  an  address 
to  the  electors,  and  we  wish  to  know  if  it  will  meet  your 
pleasure.     Will  you  be  good  enough  to  hear  it,  sir  ?" 

"Oh,"  replied  the  other,  "you  needn't  have  done  that; 
you  know  I'll  sign  any  thing ;  the  whole  thing  is  humbug, 
isn't  it  ?"     And  he  winked  very  knowingly,  and  began  to 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     321 

whistle  "  The  Rogue's  March,"  in  which  these  two  worthy 
scribes  at  once  joined. 

"  Humbug,  indeed,"  said  all  three,  and  then  they  laughed, 
and  then  my  friend  and  guide  read  aloud  as  follows : 

"  To  the  Worthy  and  Independent  Electors  of  the  Ancient 

Borough  of  Bilgewater. 
"  Gentlemen — 

"  The  vacancy  in  your  important  town,  caused  by  the 
melancholy  demise  of  your  late  respected  representative, 
entails  upon  you  the  honorable  duty  of  returning  to  Par- 
liament a  successor  worthy  of  your  confidence,  and  of  the 
great  agricultural  and  commercial  interests  connected  with 
the  locality." 

"  That  is  all  fudge,"  said  our  host,  putting  his  finger  to 
his  nose,  "but  it  reads  well." 

"Fudge,  indeed,"  rejoined  Rooke,  "for  we  know  how 
the  late  member  sold  them  whenever  he  could." 

"And  why  the  blazes  shouldn't  he,"  said  Plantagenet, 
"when  we  know  he  bought  them?  Can't  I  do  what  I  like 
with  my  own  ?     If  I  buy  a  voter,  can't  I  sell  him  ?" 

"Bravo!  bravo!"  cried  out  Shaveley  Bill;  a  remark  at 
which  Billy  barked  in  unison  with  his  fellow-dog.  The 
Cannibal  resumed  reading : 

"  Never  was  there  a  period  in  the  history  of  this  great 
country,  when  it  more  behooved  the  worthy  and  indepen- 
dent men  whom  I  have  the  high  honor  to  address  to  exercise 
their  electoral  functions  with  greater  calmness,  honesty, 
and  discrimination.  The  eyes  of  all  England  are  upon 
you;  the  whole  empire  watches  the  approaching  contest 
with  the  most  anxious  eagerness  as  to  its  result ;  and  you 
will  be  either  crowned  with  glory  by  returning  me  as  your 
representative,  or  politically  annihilated  by  selecting  the 
31 


822  EDWARD    WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

gentleman  who  I  understands  means  to  contest  with  me 
the  distinguished  post  of  your  representative." 

"  Yery  good,  very  good,"  muttered  Plantagenet,  who  was 
again  getting  sleepy. 

"  The  present  is  indeed  a  momentous  crisis.  Who  can 
doubt  that  men  like  you — " 

"  And  women,"  suggested  our  host,  half  waking.  But 
Rooke  paid  no  attention  to  the  proposed  amendment. 

"  Wlio  can  doubt  that  men  like  you  will  prove  your- 
selves worthy  of  it,  and  of  their  country  ?  The  enemies  of 
order — " 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Plantagenet,  startled  at  the 
louder  key  in  which  Rooke  read  this  paragraph. 

"All  humbug,"  said  Rooke,  in  answer,  "humbug — hum- 
bug," and  he  read  on — 

"  The  enemies  of  order,  conspiring  against  our  beautiful 
and  perfect  constitution  in  Church  and  State,  seek  gradu- 
ally to  undermine  the  foundations  of  the  splendid  fabric 
which  has  been  reared  by  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors,and 
has  outlived  a  thousand  years,  the  envy  and  admiration  of 
the  whole  civilized  world.  Against  these  enemies  you  may 
reckon  on  me  as  your  most  determined  champion.  Return 
me  to  Parliament,  and  I  will  oppose  them  with  all  the 
energies  I  possess." 

"  Bravo !"  shouted  the  candidate ;  "  it's  very  fine." 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  said  Rooke,  with  a  self-satisfied 
smile,  "  but  I'm  used  to  this  kind  of  thing."  Shaveley  Bill 
drank  oflF  a  tumbler  of  port,  and  said  "  how  jolly,"  but 
whether  he  alluded  to  the  wine  or  to  the  address  remains 
unexplained. 

The  Cannibal  resumed-^ 

"Few  boroughs  in  this  country  have  been  more  emi- 
nently adorned  with  members  of  the  British  senate,  or  have 
been  more  devotedly  served  by  a  long  line  of  celebrated 
men.    Nor  is  this  owing  to  chance  alone,  but  to  the  inde- 


EDWARD     WORTLBY     MONTAGU.  823 

pendence,  honor,  and  enlightenment  of  your  incorruptible 
electors.  The  late  statistical  returns  which  have  been  laid 
before  the  House  of  Commons,  by  his  Majesty's  command, 
show,  that  while  in  all  other  boroughs  in  England  the 
average  amount  of  persons  who  can  read  and  write  is  not 
quite  a  half-quarter  per  cent.,  among  you,  I  am  delighted 
to  say,  it  is  as  much  as  seventy-three  and  three-ninths,  thus 
affording  the  clearest  demonstration  of  your  superiority 
above  other  places  that  possess  the  franchise,  and  unfortu- 
nately use  it  only  to  abuse  it — a  thing  which  you  have 
never  done." 

"Well !"  interposed  our  host ;  but  he  added,  thoughtfully, 
"  I  say,  Cannibal,  isn't  that  rather  strong  ?  I  never  heard 
of  such  statistics,  and  even  if  I  had,  I  shouldn't  believe 
'em.    Where  are  they?" 

"Nowhere,"  answered  Rooke,  in  the  coolest  possible 
manner. 

"  Nowhere  1"  ejaculated  Plantagenet,  with  open  eyes. 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Shaveley  Bill;  "the  whole 
thing  is  a  lie ;  every  thing  in  politics  is  a  lie.  You  didn't 
believe  it,  sir,  did  you  ?" 

"  But  we  shall  be  found  out,  you  artful  boy." 

"Who'll  find  us?" 

"  The  enemy — ^the  opposite  candidate." 

"  What !  and  by  telling  the  worthy  electors  that  it  is  all 
moonshine,  awaken  their  self-love  against  himself,  enable 
us  to  denounce  him  as  a  libeller  and  villanous  slanderer, 
and  probably  secure  his  being  tossed  in  a  blanket  for  daring 
to  question  what  the  asses'  own  vanity  will  make  them 
swallow  down  like  new  milk  ?" 

"Egad!"  ejaculated  our  patrician  friend,  "you're  a  pre- 
cious pair,  and  I  think  the  thing  will  do  devilish  well,  so 
read  on." 

The  Cannibal  continued : 

"  With  these  principles — " 


324     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  the  host.  "  I  have  heard  of  no  prin- 
ciples or  pledges  yet.    Have  you  not  missed  some  portion  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Rooke ;  "  there  are  no  principles. 
Would  you  have  us  pledge  you  to  any  thing  ?  Principles, 
indeed  1     I  thought  you  had  none,  sir." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  other,  "  of  course  not,  my  dear 
boy ;  I  see  you're  quite  right ;  I  see,  I  see." 

"Principles  be  blowedl"  said  Shaveley  Bill;  and  the 
Cannibal  laughed,  and  read  on — 

"  With  these  principles  animating  my  public  conduct,  I 
ask  you  to  return  me  to  the  Commons  House  of  Parlia- 
ment. Descended  from  a  long  line  of  ancestors,  whose 
names  figure  in  the  brightest  pages  of  England's  historj^, 
you  may  be  sure  I  shall  do  nothing  to  disgrace  them  " — 
the  Cannibal  here  winked  at  both  of  us,  and  made  a  sly 
gesture  towards  the  dead  rats ;  but  Mr.  Plantagenet  did  not 
notice  it.  "  I  will  devote  myself  night  and  day,  with  an  un- 
selfish zeal  to  the  promotion  of  your  public  and  your  pri- 
vate interests,  vrith  a  fearlessness  of  the  court  and  a  freedom 
from  popular  interference  that  will,  I  hope,  add  to  my 
influence  as  your  representative.  I  shall  be  guided  by  the 
principles  of  glorious  John  Hampden,  and  actuated  by  the 
polic3'  of  our  present  Heaven-bom  minister,  who,  I  believe, 
under  Heaven  and  the  king,  is  the  best  friend  of  liberty 
that  England  has.  My  efforts  shall  be  directed  to  make 
our  country  the  standard  of  wealth,  freedom  and  enlighten- 
ment, and  to  promote  in  all  possible  ways  the  best  and 
truest  interests  of  my  constituents. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

"  Gentlemen, 
"  With  the  most  devoted  sincerity, 

"  Your  truly  faithful  Servant, 

"T.  Yeee  Cavindish  Plantagenit. 
^Bayeux  Castle." 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.     825 

Rookc  laid  down  the  paper,  and  burst  out  laughing. 
His  example  was  contagious.  We  all  indulged  in  a  hearty 
explosion  of  mirth  at  the  nonsense  that  had  been  read.  I 
have  read  plenty  of  such  things  since,  and  when  I  do  I 
always  think  of  the  "  Red  Lion,"  and  laugh. 

"Now,"  says  the  candidate,  "this  will  do  'em  finely; 
and  the  beauty  of  it  is,  it  pledges  me  to  nothing,  eh,  isn't 
that  so?" 

"  Except  to  the  minister,"  put  in  the  Cannibal. 

"  Oh !  of  course,  of  course — that's  a  matter  of  course,** 
said  our  new  friend ;  "  and  now,  gentlemen,  good-night— 
I'm  sleepy.  Send  this  humbug  to  the  printer,  and  come 
to  me  in  the  morning  to  breakfast." 

So  he  yawned,  and  we  went  away.  "We  sat  in  the  bar 
for  an  hour,  drinking  and  smoking  at  his  expense,  chatting 
to  the  barmaid,  and  sounding  his  praises  far  and  wide. 

When  we  got  into  the  streets  next  morning  we  found 
them  placarded  with  long  posters  containing  the  precious 
epistle  which  had  been  concocted  the  night  before.  Before 
each  one  was  an  admiring  crowd,  and  we  could  see  by  the 
looks  of  the  electors  that  our  flummery'  had  not  been  thrown 
before  swine,  but  that  they  believed  all  the  fine  things  that 
we  had  told  them,  swallowing  it  down  with  a  truly  British 
gusto,  for  who  so  gullible  as  dear  fat  John  Bull,  with  all 
his  boasted  common  sense  ? 

We  found  our  host  at  breakfast;  he  had  not  conde- 
scended to  wait  for  us ;  and  when  that  meal  was  finished 
we  prepared  measures — Bully,  Hogden,  Bill,  and  I.  The 
following  was  only  a  portion  of  our  tactics : 

We  first  engaged  about  a  dozen  deep  knaves,  who  went 
into  the  enemy's  camp,  and  by  the  most  furious  denuncia- 
tions of  Mr.  Plantagenet  and  his  principles,  got  into  the 
confidence  of  the  opposition,  and  were  initiated,  before  the 
week  was  over,  into  all  their  devices,  every  one  of  which 

they  communicated  to  us,  thus  enabling  us  in  all  things  to 
21 


826  EDWARD    WOETLBY    MONTAQTT. 

countermine  the  foe.  As  the  whole  constituency  numbered 
about  four  hundred,  five-and-twenty  of  whom  alone  were 
unbribable,  we  engaged  a  great  proportion  of  them,  their 
wives,  brothers,  sisters  and  sons  as  messengers,  musicians, 
laundresses,  seamstresses,  &c.,  &c.,  at  the  simple  remuner- 
ation of  five-and-sixpence  a  day;  and  as  the  nomination 
day  was  about  a  fortnight  off  they  thus  secured  a  very 
handsome  allowance.  But  as  the  day  of  the  grand  struggle 
came  near  we  found  out  that  the  other  side  were  paying 
seven  shillings  a  head  for  messengers,  and  numerous  were 
the  deserters  from  our  side,  whose  names  were  nightly  re- 
peated to  us.  We  were  now  obliged  to  pay  up  the  differ- 
ence in  arrear,  so  as  to  make  the  pay  given  by  our  side 
equal  to  that  which  our  opponents  had  given  from  the 
first.  Suddenly  there  was  a  great  demand  for  cider,  and 
we  purchased  from  a  doubtful  publican  twenty  pounds 
worth  of  that  delicious  beverage  which,  as  his  wife  assured 
us,  would  make  him  ours  forever ;  as  for  the  publican  him- 
self, he  declined  to  give  any  pledge,  but  referred  us  to  his 
wife,  who,  he  always  said,  guided  him  in  politics.  The 
other  side  gave  her  a  brocade  silk  dress;  the  Cannibal 
sent  her  i>ne  of  satin,  embroidered  with  velvet,  and  a  pair 
of  glittering  gold  ear-rings — we  bought  them  off  a  Jew 
pedlar  for  half-a-crown,  but  they  certainly  looked  splendid. 
Hogden  sent  her  a  hymn-book,  with  a  bank  note  inside, 
which  carried  the  daj^,  and  we  had,  after  that,  no  more 
staunch  or  devoted  adherent  than  the  publican  and  his 
spouse.  The  excitement  now  became  dreadful.  Mr.  Plan- 
tagenet  ordered  two  dozen  pairs  of  boots,  and  the  worthy 
maker  received  for  each  of  these  useful  articles  of  attire 
the  moderate  price  of  five  guineas — leather,  I  suppose, 
having  suddenly  been  raised  in  price,  owing  to  the  war,  or 
the  peace,  or  the  bad  harvest,  or  the  plentiful  supply  of 
rain,  or  some  other  calamity  of  a  similar  description. 
Hats  were  sold  for  five  pounds  each,  whereupon  the  other 


SDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAQU.     827 

side  bade  six,  and  fairly  drove  us  out  of  the  market.  Wo 
could  not  get  a  single  independent  hatter  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  us;  they  voted  us  mean,  shabby,  nig- 
gardly, and  enemies  of  the  British  Constitution.  Every 
tavern  in  the  place  was  now  kept  open  at  the  expense  of 
one  or  other  of  the  honorable  candidates.  Hogden  was  in 
his  element ;  he  became  more  sanctimonious  every  day ;  he 
seemed  to  have  got  the  whole  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins 
off  by  heart,  and  wherever  h^went  he  poured  it  into  tlie 
ears  of  the  godly.  He  had  already  presented  a  couple  of 
sucking  pigs,  one  to  the  Rev.  Aminadab  Groanly ;  another 
to  the  Rev.  Jehosaphat  Diggnan,  who  presided  over  a  few 
select  spirits,  whose  religious  tenets  were  hardly  known, 
but  who  numbered  certain  voters  among  them,  and  made 
no  secret  that  money  was  the  god  of  their  political  princi- 
ples. These  sucking  pigs  had  a  new  kind  of  stuffing,  of 
which  Hogden  was  the  grand  inventor;  this  was  simply  a 
bit  of  paper,  which,  when  opened,  discovered  to  the  de- 
lighted recipient  a  fifty  pound  note ;  and  it  was  marvellous 
what  a  stimulus  to  electioneering  zeal  a  dainty  of  this  kind 
gave  to  the  reverend  recipients!  Nothing  but  Plantage- 
net !  Plantagenet !  rang  from  their  lips,  at  pulpit  and  tea 
party ;  nor  were  they  silent  on  the  virtues  of  Hogden. 

Two  more  wretches  remained,  who  were  also  secured. 
These  rapscallions  were  joint  proprietors  of  the  Bilgewater 
Fost^  a  wretched  rag  which  circulated  in  the  town,  and  had 
a  good  pot-house  connection.  A  few  pounds  bought  this 
journal,  with  all  its  staff,  body  and  soul ;  and  though  the 
little  rat-catcher  could  not  speak  two  sentences  of  decent 
English,  they  represented  him  as  a  second  Pitt.  They  sent 
the  same  assassins  to  our  opponent's  meetings,  and  every 
thing  he  said  was  so  colored,  falsified,  and  perverted  that 
the  electors  who  did  not  attend  half  believed  he  was  little 
better  than  a  maniac ;  and  this,  though  it  did  not  prevent 
their  taking  his  money,  merely  gave  them  an  excuse  for 


BDWABD  WOBTLBT  MONTAGU. 

demanding  higher  prices,  for  the  greater  the  fool  the  higher 
the  bribe.  This  became  the  shibboleth  of  the  town,  and 
increased  our  opponent's  expenses — a  trick  never  to  be 
forgotten  in  elections. 

All  soon  became  riot,  drunkenness,  and  debauchery  as 
befits  an  election  carried  on  according  to  trul}"^  Constitu- 
tional principles.  "We  were  blue,  our  opponents  were 
scarlet ;  and  when  the  respective  bands  and  backers  of  each 
met,  awful  and  sanguinary  were  the  struggles.  These 
brought  the  surgeons,  the  apothecaries,  &c.,  &c.,  into  requi- 
sition, and  as  we  paid  handsomely  as  well  for  our  own 
wounded  men  as  those  of  the  enemy  we  had  the  medical 
profession  secured.  Shaveley  Bill  shouted  every  night 
from  the  balcony  of  the  hotel  until  he  got  hoarse  and  could 
speak  no  more.  Hogden  attended  no  end  of  pious  tea 
parties,  quoted  scripture,  and  insinuated  guineas.  The 
honorable  candidate  also  addressed  the  electors,  but  nearly 
ruined  himself  by  once  having  his  umbrella  held  over  his 
head  during  a  shower  of  rain  while  the  electors  endured 
the  pelting  of  the  storm,  and  greeted  him  with  groans  and 
laughter  for  his  effeminacy.  Now  the  blue  was  in  the  as- 
cendant,  now  the  scarlet  was  victorious,  and  on  the  day 
before  the  election  the  Cannibal  came  to  me  in  desjiair,  and 
said: 

"  We  must  buy  cats,  bottle  voters,  bid  for  bloaters,  and 
poll  dead  men,  or  we  shall  lose  the  election." 

The  feline  merchandise  at  once  commenced.  Never  had 
grimalkin  been  so  valuable — at  least  never  since  Dick 
Whittington  sold  his  cat  to  the  Soldan  of  Morocco  for  a 
ton  of  gold,  and  blessed  the  day  that  he  came  back  a  happy 
boy  to  Bow  Bells.  Mousers  that  belonged  to  free  and  inde- 
pendent voters  were  sought  after  everywhere — those  of  the 
constituents  who  hadn't  cats  stole  them,  and  great  was  the 
outcry  among  the  old  women  whose  tabbies  were  ruthlessly 
abducted  from  them.     The  "Red  Lion"  was  soon  filled 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      829 

with  these  unfortunate  creatures,  and  as  each  was  purchased 
for  twenty  pounds,  there  seemed  no  end  to  their  importa- 
tion. We  could  only  destroy  them  as  fast  as  they  were 
brought ;  and  a  man  offered  Fitz-Howard  sixpence  a  piece 
for  their  carcases,  which  that  worthy  was  but  too  happy  to 
receive.  Hogden  went  about  in  all  directions  purchasing 
bloaters  at  unheard-of  prices.  He  penetrated  every  lane 
and  alley;  wherever  he  went  he  opened  his  pockets.  In 
one  hole  we  bought  a  gray  parrot  for  fifty  guineas;  in 
another  we  gave  the  same  amount  for  an  old  pig  which  was 
at  the  point  of  death,  kindly  allowing  the  owner  to  kill  and 
eat  it.  To  the  women  who  were  in  the  family-way  we  said, 
"  Goody  this,  or  Goody  that,"  whatever  her  name  might  be, 
"  wouldn't  you  like  a  silver  cup  for  the  young  'un  ?  Chris- 
ten him  after  Mr.  Plantagenet,  and  the  thing  is  done." 
And  there  were  actually  some  twenty  cups  brought  down 
from  London  to  the  "  Red  Lion  "  for  these  precious  babes. 
Mr.  Plantagenet's  address  was  printed  on  bine  satin  by 
one  of  the  mercers  in  the  town  and  distributed  in  hundreds. 
This  cost  a  vast  sum,  but  the  worthy  mercer's  vote  was 
won.  Such  an  exhibition  of  high  and  patriotic  principle 
worked  an  astonishing  change  in  our  favor.  We  now  began 
to  "  bottle."  Thirty-five  doubtful  voters  were  invited  to  a 
champagne  supper  at  the  "King's  Head,"  the  landlord  of 
which  was  in  our  interest.  Shaveley  Bill  was  appointed  to 
fill  the  chair.  Three  large  wagons,  each  drawn  by  six 
horses,  with  plentiful  relays,  were  engaged.  After  a  most 
delightful  entertainment  the  wagons  and  the  visitors  were 
found  next  night  some  fifty  miles  away  from  the  town 
where  the  election  was  held,  and  even  then  the  inde[;endent 
freemen  had  not  wholly  recovered  the  intoxicating  effects  of 
the  champagne  which  they  had  drank — I  won't  say  how 
much  our  laudanum  bill  was,  as  Rooke  managed  all  these 
matters.  Rooke  next  prepared  his  "  dead  men."  The  lists 
of  the  constituency  were  carefully  gone  through,  and  various 


830     EDWAKD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

■worth}'  fellows  were  procured  who  personated  voters  who  had 
long  since  lain  at  rest  in  the  churchyard.  The  make  up  of 
these  varlets  was  excellent,  even  the  widows  of  the  real  de- 
funct parties,  and  in  many  instances  their  mothers,  and 
surviving  friends  and  relations  boldly  declared — after  they 
had  had  a  short  interview  with  the  Cannibal  in  a  private 
room — that  the  dressed-up  voters  were  the  bona  fide  persons 
whom  they  represented,  and  though  the  other  side  were  on 
the  alert,  Rooke  did  not  care  a  farthing. 

"Win  the  election  any  way,"  said  he,  "then  let  them 
petition  if  they  like.  We  can  make  it  cost  them  nine  or 
ten  thousand  pounds ;  the  chances  are  we  can  buy  them 
off  for  a  quarter  of  the  sum,  and  then  the  election  will  be 
ours." 

So  we  resolved  to  poll  the  dead  men  with  the  most  utter 
fearlessness.  This,  and  the  bottling,  and  the  lying,  and 
the  cat  buying,  and  bloater  catching,  we  hoped  would 
secure  us  the  election — a  hope  in  which,  as  it  subsequently 
turned  out,  we  were  not  disappointed. 

The  grand  stroke  of  all  remained,  in  which  our  new  but 
unsavory  friend  Hogden  won  great  laurels ;  indeed,  "  The 
Bloater  "  considered  it  his  trump  card.  Two  or  three  days 
before  the  nomination  the  whole  disti'ict,  even  for  miles 
round,  was  covered  with  gigantic  posters,  bordered  with 
black,  in  which  our  opponent  was  represented  as  a  man 
noted  for  his  blasphemies  and  debaucheries ;  the  character  of 
his  wife — a  most  honorable  woman — but  what  did  Hogden 
care  ? — was  virulently  assailed,  and  she  was  dragged  into 
all  the  filth  of  the  election  whirlpool,  in  a  way  that  ought 
to  have  made  any  body  of  Englishmen  blush;  but  the 
majority  of  the  constituency  were  now  so  debased  that  they 
seemed  to  think  any  amount  of  dirt,  falsehood  or  filth, 
which  could  secure  a  triumph  for  their  favorite  was  per- 
fectly allowable,  and  their  reverend  advisers,  I  am  sorry  to 
Bay,  were  foremost  in  their  approval  of  these  tactics.   Aft»r 


BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.      831 

this  other  posters  came  out,  in  which  our  opponent  was 
represented  to  the  constituency  as  having  come  down  to 
the  borough  under  false  colors,  being  bribed  to  sell  his 
party ;  to  profess  principles  of  which  he  was  not  the  true 
advocate,  and  to  commit  I  know  not  how  many  other 
equally  odious  treasons. 

It  was  in  vain  that  our  honorable  opponent,  Johnson, 
went  about  everywhere  denouncing  these  as  a  forgery. 
Wherever  he  went  he  was  followed  by  hired  gangs,  the 
very  scum  and  filth  of  Bilgewater,  pelted  with  stones,  old 
bottles,  mud  and  rotten  eggs.  On  the  day  of  the  election 
a  number  of  fellows  were  sent  in  every  direction,  with  bells 
and  hand-bills,  and  copies  of  the  Bilgewater  Pout,  in  which 
the  honest  electors  were  warned  against  voting  for  him,  as 
he  had  been  taken  to  the  county  jail  the  night  before  on 
some  criminal  charge  connected  with  the  election.  The 
lowest  rabble,  with  eyes  like  ravenous  wolves,  and  tongues 
like  mad  dogs,  were  posted  around  each  polling  place  howl- 
ing at  all  his  supporters ;  dinning  these  and  all  sorts  of 
lies  into  the  ears  of  the  general  body  of  voters ;  hurr3ing 
them  off  to  public  houses  and  taverns ;  plying  them  with 
drink,  till  the  whole  constituency  grovelled  before  us  like 
dirty  beasts;  slipping  money  into  their  hands,  and  per- 
petually asking :  "  Would  you  vote  for  a  man  that's  hired 
to  sell  you  ?  Hasn't  he  got  his  price  in  his  pocket  ?  Hasn't 
he  been  expelled  by  his  own  church,  after  full  inquiry  ? 
Didn't  I  hear  him  swear  and  blaspheme  so  and  so  ?"  re- 
peating all  the  awful  language  which  was  contained  in 
Hogden's  placards.  Need  I  say  that  all  this  had  an  im- 
mense effect  ? 

Another  and  final  stroke  of  ours  decided  the  election. 
About  the  last  hour,  when  there  were  still  a  great  number 
of  "doubtfuls" — and  only  conscientious  characters,  who 
even  then  could  not  make  up  their  minds  as  to  the  respec- 
tive merits  of  the  rival  candidates,  and  when  we  could 


332     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

hardly  be  said  to  be  safe,  Rooke  rushed  into  the  head 
committee-room  in  great  excitement.  "Now  is  the  time 
for  the  hundreds,"  he  shouted,  and  with  a  profusion  of 
oaths  and  blasphemies,  he  summoned  Hogden,  Shaveley 
Bill,  and  the  bell-man  to  his  presence.  The  three  came, 
and  the  Cannibal  pulled  out  an  immense  bundle  of  hundred- 
pound  bank  notes.  Giving  a  handful  to  our  two  worthy 
friends,  he  said  to  the  bell-man,  "  Up  and  ring  the  street, 
you  ugly  hang-gallows ;  up  and  down  like  wild-fire.  Let 
your  bell  ring  and  your  throat  proclaim  a  hundred-pound 
note  to  every  man  who  has  not  yet  voted."  And  to  Hog- 
den and  Shaveley  he  said,  "  Give  these  to  all  the  doubtful, 
right  and  left."  I  started  at  this  open  act  of  suicide,  as  it 
seemed  to  be ;  but  Hogden  and  Shavelej^  put  their  fingers 
to  their  lioses  and  called  out  "How  jolly  I"  then  rushing 
into  the  streets,  did  as  they  were  told.  In  less  than  twenty 
minutes  all  the  "  doubtfuls  "  were  secured  and  had  voted 
for  us ;  and  it  was  only  when  they  took  their  notes  to  be 
changed  that  the  unfortunate  victims,  who  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  discovered  they  had  been  shamefully  cheated, 
and  instead  of  a  hundred-pound  note  of  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land, they  found  they  had  sold  themselves  for  a  base  bit 
of  paper  which  was  payable  only  at  the  Bank  of  Elegance. 
But  their  votes  had  then  been  given,  and  it  was  neither 
bribery  nor  corruption,  as  several  good  lawyers  held.* 
But  I  anticipate.  The  day  preceding  the  election,  Plan- 
tagenet,  who  was  a  horrid  coward,  sent  for  the  Cannibal. 
We  found  him  in  his  bed-room ;  he  was  quite  pale. 

"  Cannibal,"  said  he,  "  I'm  told  I  shall  be  attacked  going 
to  the  hustings  to-morrow.     How  shall  we  manage  ?" 

"  That's  all  right,"  replied  my  friend,  "  I  have  got  Figg, 
the   Champion  of  England,  down  already ;  he  represents 

»  Tbit  ezeellent  electioneering  dsTice  was  afterwards  Imitated  with  snccegs 
at  an  election  for  the  county  of  Worcester,  when  Mr.  Foley  owed  his  retarn 
to  it. 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      833 

the  lieary  weights.  Jem  Blood,  of  the  light  weights,  is 
also  come.  I  have  promised  them  twenty  guineas  a  piece, 
and  woe  to  the  man  that  lifts  his  hand  against  your  honor." 

Plantagenet  smiled  faintly.  The  dirty  little  craven  took 
courage,  and  shook  the  Cannibal  by  the  hand. 

"  Bravo !  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  have  the 
first  Judgeship  that  I  can  procure ;  and  an  honor  you'll  be 
to  the  Bench  1" 

Next  day  we  proceeded  to  the  hustings,  with  drums 
beating,  colors  flying,  trumpets  sounding,  dogs  barking, 
the  populace  shouting,  Groanley  and  Diggnan  singing 
psalms,  the  women  waving  handkerchiefs,  and  all  the 
other  stupid  folly  of  a  contested  election.  Our  plans  and 
plots  all  succeeded;  we  carried  every  thing  before  us.  The 
opposition  candidate  was  half  murdered ;  his  proposer  and 
seconder  were  overwhelmed  with  filth,  and  the  day  ended 
with  the  triumphant  return  of  the  honorable  scion  of  Plan- 
tagenet. 

A  great  moral  victory  this  was,  no  doubt,  and  so  the 
honorable  member  regarded  it.  We  had  a  grand  dinner, 
at  which  every  one  present  got  drunk,  to  the  music  of 
Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  which  Hogden  led  off,  and  from 
whose  effects  they  did  not  recover  for  a  week,  to  the  great 
profit  (again)  of  the  medical  profession,  but  to  the  great 
disgust  of  Brownlow  Blades,  a  very  honest  fellow,  who  had 
.  written  several  excellent  pamphlets,  strongly  recommend- 
ing temperance.  We  had  a  chairing  through  the  streets, 
and  several  more  fights,  and  half  the  town  was  mad  with 
gin,  tobacco,  and  excitement ;  and  the  electors  were  in  fact 
changed  as  by  the  Wand  of  Comus,  into  dogs,  swine,  and 
monkeys.  We  had  a  funeral  procession,  and  a  coffin  bear- 
ing the  name  and  character  of  our  opponent  carried  through 
the  town  of  Bilgewater,  with  Rooke  and  Shaveley  Bill  for 
mourners.  Tom  Fireaway  read  a  burlesque  of  the  burial 
service,  in  which  he  was  assisted  by  the  other  two  rever- 


334     BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

end  gentlemen,  and  the  coflSn  was  buried  under  a  dung- 
hill, amid  a  profusion  of  dead  cats,  for  which  we  had  so 
handsomely  paid. 

Now  our  election  bills  came  in  fast  and  furious,  and  the 
Honorable  Thomas  pialled  several  very  long  faces  as  he 
perused  them ;  but  the  Lord  Privy,  &c.,  paid  them,  and  so 
there  was  no  trouble  on  that  score ;  though  the  other  side 
basely  whispered  that  the  "heaven-born  Minister  of  the 
day  "  discharged  them  out  of  some  secret  fund  which  was 
annually  set  apart  for  that  especial  purpose.  If  Walpole 
did,  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  quite  right,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  was  very  properly  reimbursed  for  it  by  the  patriotic 
votes  of  the  new  member ;  so  all  came  straight  and  square 
in  the  end,  and  the  Scarlet  party  were  thoroughly  put 
down,  and  scarcely  ventured  to  wag  their  tongues  against 
us.  The  defeated  candidate  petitioned,  but  nothing  came 
of  it ;  every  thing  seemed  a  humbug,  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end ;  and  though  a  few  choice  spirits  called  atten- 
tion to  the  matter  in  the  House,  Walpole  and  some  of  his 
buffons  laughed  them  down;  and  even  Pulteney  did  not 
stick  to  his  man.  It  was  all  a  swindle.  The  House  went 
the  length,  it  is  true,  of  ordering  Hogden  to  be  i^rosecuted 
for  bribery ;  but  that  worthy  was  true  to  his  colors,  and 
having  contrived  to  fee  the  Attomey-General's  Clerk  and 
one  or  two  others  connected  with  the  office,  he  managed  to 
escape  that  high  functionary,  who  was  himself  probably 
too  busy  to  bother  himself  much  about  such  raggabrash ;  and 
thus  Hogden  escaped  amid  a  derisive  cheer  of  joy  from  all 
the  bribers  and  blackguards  of  the  kingdom.  But  what 
did  they  think  of  a  Senate  that  connived  at  such  rascality  ? 
Why  simply  this,  that  every  fellow  in  it,  being  tarred  with 
the  same  brush,  thought  it  hard  to  press  upon  a  delinquent 
like  Hogden  and  his  like,  without  whose  aid,  arts  and  ap- 
pliances, every  honorable  member  knew  that  he  himself 
also  must  have  lost  the  seat  to  which  he  aspired.     Thus 


BDTfARD    WORTLEY    MONTAQU.  885 

this  honest  world  wags,  and  so  I  suppose  it  perpetually 
will  wag  on,  while  the  true  British  lion  shakes  his  mane  at 
all  the  earth,  and  with  his  roar  quells  the  affrighted  forest. 

Mr.  Plantagenet  went  into  Parliament,  where  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  anecdotes  of  rat-catching,  told  at 
Bellamy's  with  great  applause,  (for  he  was  too  modest  to 
address  Mr.  Speaker,)  until  from  rat-catching  he  mounted 
to  the  noble  sport  of  dog-fighting,  bear  and  badger-baiting, 
the  cock-pit,  the  bull,  and,  finally,  the  prize  ring,  where 
once  in  a  combat  with  his  old  backer,  Jem  Blood,  who  was 
teaching  him  to  spar,  at  half-a-guinea  a  lesson,  his  left  eye 
was  unfortunately  knocked  out,  which  reduced  him  to  a 
political  nonentity,  for  he  soon  after  retired  from  the  ex- 
alted position  of  a  British  senator,  and  settled  in  the 
country  as  an  active  magistrate.  Here  he  passed  his  rosy 
leisure,  till  he  succeeded  to  the  peerage,  when  he  married 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  A.,  one  of  the  loveliest 
women  in  England,  who  soon  after  ran  away  from  him,  and 
left  him  to  the  company  of  his  dog  Billy,  who  thus  became 
the  joy  and  solace  of  his  old  age.  He — the  nobleman,  not 
the  dog — enjo^'^ed  the  reputation  of  having  killed  more  rats 
and  corrupted  more  country  girls  than  any  other  member 
of  the  peerage,  and  his  son  and  heir  inherits  the  same  ex- 
alted tastes.  I  met  him  at  White's  some  years  ago,  and 
was  present  at  a  wager  he  laid  with  the  Marquis  of  Queens- 
bury  as  to  the  respective  speed  of  two  black  beetles.  The 
stake  was  five  thousand  guineas,  and  Queensbury  won,  (as 
he  usually  does,)  and  laughed  at  young  Plantagenet,  which 
I  thought  rather  unfeeling. 

An  incident  which  happened  a  day  or  two  after  the  elec- 
tion deserves  to  be  recorded.  The  Cannibal,  Shaveley,  Hog- 
den  and  myself,  remained  of  course  in  town,  to  settle  all 
outstanding  claims,  and  to  arrange  certain  little  matters 
with  our  honorable  and  independent  committee-men.  We 
were  rather  surprised  one  evening  to  receive  a  message  from 


836     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

Alderman  Bullface,  who  had  been  among  the  bitterest  of 
our  opponents  in  the  late  struggle.  He  was  down  stairs, 
and  begged  to  be  admitted.  He  was  shown  into  the  room, 
and  the  Cannibal  warmly  shook  hands  with  him  ;  for  Bull- 
face  had  great  influence  over  his  own  people,  and  if  we 
could  but  get  him  to  our  own  side,  all  hope  for  the  Scarlets 
would  be  utterly  and  forever  extinguished,  so  nicely  were 
these  two  great  constitutional  parties  balanced.  Bullface 
returned  the  Cannibal's  greeting  with  equal  favor,  and 
having  shaken  hands  with  several  of  the  committee-men, 
begged  permission  to  be  heard.     It  was  at  once  granted. 

"  Gentlemen,"  says  the  Alderman,  "  I  admire  the  spirit 
and  the  pluck  with  which  the  late  election  was  carried. 
AU  is  now  over ;  let  bygones  be  bygones.  We  have  had 
a  fair  stand-up  fight;  we  have  got  a  bellyfull,  and  you 
have  won  the  belt.  All  this  is  right  and  fair,  and  I  don't 
complain.  But  the  election  has  had  this  important  effect 
on  my  own  mind,  and  on  those  of  the  gentlemen  who 
usually  go  with  me.  It  has  separated  us  forever  from  the 
Scarlet  party." 

Here  there  was  a  tremendous  burst  of  applause,  which 
nearly  knocked  the  ceiling  of  the  room  to  pieces.  The  ex- 
citement was  perfectly  dreadful ;  several  of  the  committee- 
men in  their  wild  eagerness  to  embrace  and  congratulate 
Bullface  on  his  independenL  spirit,  jostled  against  and 
knocked  each  other  down.  The  Alderman  listened  calmly 
and  philosophically ;  he  was  as  unmoved  as  Socrates  when 
his  friends  surrounded  him  in  prison — and  some  wept, 
while  others  preaclied.  I  often  wonder  the  Gi-ecian  sage 
did  not  kick  both  the  pedants  and  the  pulers  to  the  deuce. 
When  the  hurricane  had  subsided,  the  worthy  Alderman 
resumed : 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  I  have  been  treated  with  base  ingrati- 
tude ;  but  no  more  of  this.  I  am  here  to  make  the  arrange- 
ment I  have  mentioned ;  in  all  my  coming  struggles  you 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU.     837 

inny  rely  on  me  and  on  my  friends,  and  I  hope  to  make  np 
by  my  future  conduct  for  any  inconvenience  I  may  have 
put  you  to  by  my  former  opposition.  And  now,  gentle- 
men, I  bid  you  all  good-night,"  and  the  Alderman  appeared 
as  if  he  were  about  to  withdraw. 

The  thing  was  impossible.  Whatl  suffer  the  worthy 
BuUface  to  depart  in  this  manner  ?  It  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  must  stay — he  must  have  a  glass — a  bottle — a 
pipe — any  thing,  every  thing — nothing  that  money  could 
procure  would  be  too  precious  for  this  high-spirited  and 
independent  elector,  who  carried  six  and  forty  votes  in  his 
breeches  pocket.  We  all  gathered  round  him  and  entreated 
him  to  remain.  The  Cannibal  would  not  permit  his  depar- 
ture— he  went  and  locked  the  door.  The  chairman  of  the 
committee,  who  happened  also  to  be  the  Mayor  of  the 
town,  never  heard  of  such  a  proposition  in  his  life. 

At  length,  after  great  entreaty,  Bullface  again  addressed 
them: 

"Mr.  Mayor,  and  gentlemen  of  the  Blue  Committee," 
said  he,  "  this  is  the  proudest,  happiest  moment  of  my  life. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  express  what  I  feel.  Why,  oh, 
why  have  we  been  so  long  on  opposite  sides  ?  Why  have 
we  been  so  long  blind  to  each  other's  excellencies  ?  I  am 
delighted  to  have  found  so  many  and  such  kind  friends — 
and  all  for  the  performance  of  a  simple  act  of  duty.  With 
pleasure  I  accept  your  kind  hospitality — but  only  on  this 
condition,  that  you  also  will  partake  of  mine.  When  we 
have  had  a  glass  or  two,  suffer  me  to  hope  that  you  will 
not  refuse  to  partake  of  a  little  supper  with  me.  If  I  re- 
ceive your  consent,  I  will  but  step  over  to  the  Swan  and 
order  it;  we  shall  have  it  nice  and  hot,  and  it  shall  be 
ready  in  an  hour.  It  must  be  pot  luck,  gentlemen,  for  I 
really  don't  know  what  they  can  get  at  a  moment's  notice; 
but  though  plain  and  simple,  we  shall  not  the  less  heartily 
enjoy  it." 
22 


838  EDWAED     WORTLBY     MONTAGFU. 

There  were  several  hungry  fellows  on  our  committee, 
who  enjoyed  nothing  better  than  a  feast  at  another  man's 
expense.  They  smacked  their  lips  at  the  anticipated  Alder- 
manic  banquet ;  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  Bullface 
stepped  across  the  street  to  give  his  orders.  He  was  not 
away  more  than  five  minutes,  and  when  he  came  back  there 
was  a  sunny  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Mayor  and  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  am  happy  to 
inform  you  that  they  can  supply  us.  It  is  now  eight 
o'clock — supper  will  be  ready  at  nine.  Until  then,  let  us 
sit  down  and  talk  over  the  past,  like  good  fellows." 

And  we  did  sit  down  ;  what  capital  boon  companions  we 
all  were  1  We  drank,  at  Plantagenet's  expense,  the  most 
excellent  claret  that  could  be  got  for  money — we  swilled  it 
about  like  water;  we  warmed  it  with  real  Cogniac.  At 
nine  we  adjourned  to  the  Swan,  and  were  shown  to  the 
supper-room.  Covers  were  laid  for  thirty.  Bullface  sat 
at  the  head  near  the  door,  with  the  Cannibal  and  Fireaway 
on  his  right,  Shaveley  Bill  and  Hogden  on  the  left;  the 
landlord  of  the  Red  Lion  occupied  the  vice-chair,  and  the 
dishes  were  quickly  uncovered. 

"  Mr.  Mayor  and  Gentlemen,"  says  Mr.  Bullface,  "  it  is 
a  plain"  supper ;  at  this  short  notice  I  could  get  nothing 
but  rabbits  in  the  borough — ^nor  could  even  those  be  got 
in  sufficient  quantity,  only  that,  as  you  know,  to-morrow 
is  our  great  rabbit  fair,  and  I  fortunately  waylaid  a  higgler 
who  was  on  his  way  to  it,  and  bought  two  dozen  of  his 
finest.  Mine  host  of  the  Swan  tells  me  they  have  made  a 
most  beautiful  stew,  and  indeed  they  smell  deliciously. 
Let  us  despatch  them  as  soon  as  possible.  I  have  ordered 
four  or  five  dozen  champagne  to  follow." 

Saying  this,  the  Alderman  began  to  help  those  who  sat 
near  him.  There  were  six  dishes  of  these  delicious  animals, 
each  containing  four ;  they  steamed  with  onions,  pepper, 
and  many  other  fragrant  condiments.   The  sparkling  vision 


BDWARD    WORTLBY     MONTAGU.  339 

of  the  coming  champagne  inspired  the  committee-men,  and 
ample  justice  was  done  to  the  Alderman's  rabbits.  The 
company  indeed  was  profuse  in  their  praises. 

"  I  never  tasted  any  thing  sweeter,"  said  the  Mayor. 

"  They  are  perfectly  delicious,"  said  Hogden. 

"Rabbit  me,"  cried  the  Cannibal,  "but  this  is  the  best 
part  of  the  election." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Bullface,  "  enjoy  yourselves,  I  am  de- 
lighted to  see  you." 

"  But,  Mr.  Alderman,"  cried  the  Mayor, "  how  is  it  you're 
eating  none  yourself?" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Mayor,"  answered  our  host,  "I  have 
drank  so  much  of  your  excellent  claret,  that  I  really  have 
no  room,  but  I  will  begin  presently.  In  the  meantime  let 
me  help  you  to  this  back — it  is  fat  and  plump." 

And  so  the  plates  went  round,  and  silvery  was  the  clatter 
of  knives  and  forks.  I  was  myself  rather  a  spectator  than 
an  actor  in  this  happy  scene.  The  fact  was,  like  the 
Alderman  himself,  I  had  indulged  in  the  claret,  until  I 
felt  disjjosed  for  nothing  else ;  I  therefore  fiddled  with  a 
bit  of  bread.  But  Groanley  and  Diggnan  stuffed  them- 
selves like  boas. 

Half  an  hour  or  more  having  been  thus  delightfully 
enjoyed,  the  Alderman  arose,  and  apologizing  for  leaving 
the  room,  said  he  was  going  to  see  after  the  champagne. 
In  his  absence  we  drank  his  health  in  some  very  good  beer, 
and  all  agreed  that  there  was  not  a  better  fellow  in  the 
world. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  hamper  of  champagne  was  brought 
in,  and  laid  on  the  table.  A  note  at  the  same  time  was 
handed  from  the  Alderman  to  the  Mayor,  which  the  latter 
read  aloud.    It  was  as  follows : 

**  Friday  night, 
"  Deae  Me.  Mayor  : 

"  I  am  unexpectedly  called  away  by  a  sudden  matter, 


840  KDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

which  admits  of  no  delay.  Pray  make  my  apology  to  the 
company  for  my  unlooked-for  absence.  I  hope  you  will 
enjoy  the  sham. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"John  Bullpace." 

"We  had  a  laugh  at  the  worthy  Alderman's  mode  of  spell- 
ing the  first  syllable  of  champagne. 

"  But  as  it's  French,"  says  the  Mayor,  taking,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  the  vacant  chair,  "  why  our  departed  friend  can- 
not be  expected  to  know  any  thing  of  a  foreign  lingo.  He's 
a  good  John  Bull,  and  true  son  of  old  England,  I  know. 
In  the  meantime,  gentlemen,  so  long  as  his  wine  is  real, 
we  can  overlook  the  spelling,"  and  gentl^'^  smiling  at  his 
easj^  humor,  he  drew  the  hamper  towards  him. 

"  Waiter,"  said  he,  "  bring  the  nippers  and  champagne 
tumblers.  Gentlemen,  we  shall  drink  in  bumpers  and  no 
mistake." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  for  a  hamper  containing  so  many 
bottles  of  wine,  it  was  wielded  without  much  trouble  by  our 
worthy  President.  However,  he  himself,  intent  on  ap- 
proaching bliss,  evidently  heeded  nothing  but  to  draw  forth 
the  contents  as  speedily  as  possible.  He  cut  the  cords  and 
lifted  up  the  lid.  We  could  see  no  bottles,  nor  any  straw 
in  wliich  they  were  likely  to  be  concealed.  The  mayor  put 
in  his  hand,  and  drew  forth  a  brown  paper  parcel,  nicely 
sealed,  and  addressed  to  "  His  Worship."  We  all  gathered 
round  him.  With  anxious  trembling  hand  he  tore  open 
the  parcel,  and  revealed  to  our  astonished  view  twenty-four 
cats'  tails,  together  with  the  head  and  claws  of  an  old  gray 
parrot.  In  a  moment  the  horrible  truth  flashed  on  us.  We 
had  supped  on — but  let  me  pause. 

The  whole  company  was  sick  in  five  minutes.    Never  was 
there  a  more  awful  C7a(astrophe. 
♦  *  *  4(  «  * 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     841 

The  reader  may  probably  ask  me,  "  Pray,  Mr.  Montagu, 
what  were  you  doing  during  all  this  hard-fought  election  ?" 
That  is  my  secret,  which  I  am  not  at  all  bound  to  reveal. 
I  only  know,  instead  of  fifty,  I  got  a  hundred  pounds  out 
of  the  successful  candidate,  and  that  was  all  I  cared  for. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

During  all  this  time  I  had  not  forgotten  what  I  owed  to 
my  loved  Francesca.  I  searched  the  peerage  books,  con- 
sulted a  lawyer,  and  made  inquiries  as  largely  as  I  could 
without  attracting  particular  attention  to  either  of  us. 
Under  my  incognito  of  Smith,  I  was  to  some  extent  safe ; 
but  I  did  not  care  much  to  go  into  the  fashionable  parts  of 
the  metropolis  too  openly,  for  I  dreaded  recognition,  not 
only  by  my  mother's  friends,  but  by  Dom  Balthazar,  whom 
I  instinctively  knew  to  be  after  me,  animated  as  much  by 
vengeance  as  by  thirst  of  money.  My  Francesca  scarcely 
ever  ventured  out,  except  in  my  company.  I  disguised 
myself  so  as  to  be  as  unlike  as  possible  what  I  had  been 
among  the  gypsies.  It  may  be  asked  why  I  did  not  keep 
my  promise  to  Francesca,  to  fly  with  her  to  my  father,  and 
replace  her  in  her  proper  sphere  ?  The  answer  is — and  I 
know  that  it  is  an  unsatisfactory  one — I  delayed  doing  so 
until  I  could  present  her  in  her  true  character.  I  plumed 
myself  with  the  grand  hope  that  I  should  go  before  Mr. 
Wortley  Montagu,  and  say,  "  Here  I  am ;  I  present  to  you 
as  your  daughter-in-law  a  scion  of  a  most  noble  house.  She 
is  all  mine,  for  she  loves  me  entirely  for  myself.  She  loved 
me  when  she  knew  not  that  I  was  other  than  a  wanderer." 
This,  I  thought,  would  be  at  least  a  part  in  which  I  should 
worthily  appear.     How  could  I  venture  before  him  until 


342     BDWABD  WORTLBT  MONTAOU. 

the  great  object  of  my  search  was  accomplished  ?  To  in- 
troduce into  his  house  a  gitana — for  in  no  other  light 
would  she  stand  until  her  ti'ue  descent  was  established — 
would  be  to  incense  him  and  his  wife  agninst  both  with  an 
inextinguishable  fury.  Besides,  to  own  the  truth,  I  did 
not  particularly  desire  to  face  him.  There  was  a  vagabond 
independence,  an  erratic  Arab  sort  of  freedom  in  my  pres- 
ent mode  of  life  that  pleased  me.  For  mere  animal  pleas- 
ures I  did  not  care  much.  My  father,  with  a  million  at 
his  back,  could  live  on  fifty  pounds  a  year.  Why  should 
not  I  be  able  to  make  the  same  boast  ?  Our  garret  was 
neat  and  modest;  we  passionately  loved  each  other;  we 
read,  wrote,  and  studied  together.  She  was  delighted — 
poor  child — ^with  my  scanty  earnings.  Our  treasures  in 
that  way  seemed  inexhaustible.  My  brain  appeared  a 
golden  mine,  on  which  I  could  draw  at  will.  And  then 
how  exquisite  a  luxury  was  her  praise  of  my  works  when 
perfected !  One  word  of  commendation  from  her  was  woi'th 
all  the  applause  of  the  critics.  Mrs.  Sale  was  enchanted 
with  her,  as  who  would  not  be  ?  She  flashed  upon  her  like 
a  new  star.  I  repeat  there  was  a  vagrant  charm,  a  strange 
eccentric  fascination  in  the  whole  affair,  which  restrained 
me  from  making  any  offer  to  return  home,  and  though  I 
knew  that  I  had  outgrown  schools  and  rods,  and  had  no 
fear  on  that  head,  still  I  did  not  really  need  Lady  Mary, 
her  husband,  or  their  splendid  home.  We  had  love  in  a 
garret,  and  that  sufficed  for  all  things — let  misers  and 
money-grubbers  say  what  they  will. 

One  day  when  I  returned  home,  (we  had  now  been  about 
six  months  in  London,)  Francesca  told  me,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  strange  alarm,  that  she  had  seen  Dom  Balthazar 
pass  by,  and  look  up  at  our  house.  She  happened  to  be  at 
the  window  at  the  moment,  and  suddenly  drew  back,  but 
did  not  venture  to  look  out  again  to  observe  whether  he 
had  stayed  to  reconnoitre,  or  whether  his  movement  had 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      343 

been  any  thing  indeed  but  casual.  This  information  gave 
me  some  alarm ;  yet  I  heeded  little  that  could  be  done  in 
the  way  of  open  violence.  I  was  in  the  middle  of  the  me- 
tropolis, where  it  would  have  been  hard  at  all  events  to 
perpetrate  any  great  outrage,  or  openly  violate  the  laws. 
However,  I  thought  it  as  well  to  guard  against  all  risk  of 
danger,  and  we  left  our  lodgings  the  following  day,  and 
went  into  an  entirely  different  part  of  London.  We  neg- 
lected, however — as  afterwards  appeared — one  most  mate- 
rial precaution;  for  the  person  who  removed  our  things 
carried  them  straight  into  our  new  dwelling,  and  we  forgot 
to  bribe  him  into  silence,  or  rather  we  never  suspected  that 
our  change  of  residence  might  thus  by  an  active  adversary 
be  easily  traced.  We  were  now  happy  again.  Francesca's 
fears  gradually  abated,  and  I  went  abroad  as  usual  among 
my  coffee-house  friends  and  patrons.  It  happened  that  I 
remained  there  one  night  later  than  usual.  When  I  left,  it 
was  past  midnight.  I  had  been  detained  by  the  buffoon- 
eries of  that  reverend  quack  orator,  Henley,  who  held  forth 
to  an  admiring  audience  of  fops  and  witlings  in  the  most 
extraordinary  medley  of  learning,  farce,  scurrility,  and 
indecency  that  has  been  heard  since  the  days  of  Aretino, 
or  Rabelais — or  to  go  further  back,  perhaps  Aristophanes 
liimself,  that  mad  wag  of  quality  who  has  so  many  sins 
against  propriety  and  Socrates  to  answer  for.  The  subject 
was,  I  think,  "Tlie  Marriage  of  Cana  in  Galilee,"  and 
while  a  large  portion  of  the  comedy  was  borrowed  from 
poor  Woolston,  a  great  deal  more  was  the  proper  lucubra- 
tion of  our  renowned  tub-Thersites ;  and  loud  was  the  ap- 
plause which  he  excited.  We  cheerfully  subscribed  our 
sixpence  at  the  close,  and  the  mountebank  making  a  low 
bow,  wished  us  all  with  old  Nickolas,  who  he  assured  us 
was  his  proper  Metropolitan  and  Archimandrite,  and  would 
gratefully  reward  us  for  the  lessons  which  we  had  just 
learned  from  his  accredited  clergyman.     I  walked  homo 


844     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

part  of  the  way  with  old  Colly  Gibber,  who,  among  other 
profane  sexagenarians,  had  been  loudest  of  all  the  assembled 
rascals  in  his  applause.  He  was  not  quite  old  enough  to 
remember  Sir  Charles  Sedley's  horrible  exhibition  of  him- 
self in  Covent  Garden,  or  Rochester's  sermon  as  a  foreign 
quack  on  Tower  Hill ;  but  he  had  known  persons  who  had 
been  present  at  both,  and  having  heard  them  frequently 
described,  he  declared  that  Henley's  was  a  more  agreeable 
treat  to  all  blackguard-minded  individuals  than  either; 
adding  he  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  a  score  of  guineas. 
We  parted  at  a  cross  street,  and  I  wandered  slowly  home- 
ward. Suddenly  I  felt  myself  seized,  gagged,  and  bound. 
I  was  flung  into  a  hackney  coach ;  two  men  instantly 
jumped  in  after  me ;  a  direction  was  given  to  the  driver, 
and  I  was  hurried  off  with  the  rapidity  of  a  hunt.  The  night 
was  dark,  and  we  moved  so  rapidly  that  even  had  I  known 
my  companions,  I  doubt  whether  I  could  have  recognized 
them.  A  passing  glimpse  of  light  from  a  dying  lamp  re- 
vealed two  faces  masked.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  We 
rode  for  about  two  hours,  without  once  stopping.  We 
made  a  momentary  halt  at  some  turnpike  gates ;  but  they 
flew  open  as  if  by  magic,  and  we  passed  through  unchal- 
lenged. At  length,  when  the  morning  gray  was  almost 
breaking,  we  stopped  at  an  iron  gate ;  it  opened,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded up  a  dark  avenue.  A  house  with  one  solitary  light 
appeared  in  the  distance.  I  was  brought  in,  led  upstairs, 
and  thrust  into  a  bedroom  in  which  a  fire  was  burning, 
screened  by  an  iron-wire  guard.  A  light  also  was  hung 
against  the  wall,  but  so  as  to  be  inaccessible  to  the  inmate 
of  the  room.  The  door  was  locked  on  the  outside,  and  1 
was  left  to  my  meditations. 

My  first  thought  was,  of  course,  home — I  do  not  mean 
Lady  Mary's,  for  that  was  never  a  home  to  me — but  ray 
true  home — the  home  and  household  of  my  heart.  My 
wife,  Francesca — poor  child  1  I  said,  what  will  become  of 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.     345 

thee  ?  Alone  in  London — I  dread  to  think.  Oh !  let  me 
fly  to  thee !  I  rushed  to  the  bed — I  tore  ofl  the  clothes.  I 
tied  the  sheets  together  in  a  long  knot.  I  rushed  to  the 
window.  It  was  fastened  down  and  securely  barred.  All 
escape  that  way  seemed  impossible.  I  stamped,  I  thundered 
against  the  door,  the  floor.  I  broke  the  panes  themselves 
to  pieces,  and  shouted  aloud  through  the  aperture.  But  no 
voice  answered.  My  words  seemed  lost  in  vastness  and 
vacuity.  No  one  came  near  me.  I  was  left  to  my  own 
reflections.  Oh  1  how  I  raved  and  roared  1  My  passion 
was  frightful — ^but  I  was  powerless.  I  could  do  nothing. 
I  strove  to  get  at  the  lamp,  at  the  fire,  that  I  might  burn 
the  house  and  take  my  chance  of  an  escape  during  the 
tumult.  But  even  here  I  was  baflfled.  In  a  word,  I  could 
devise  no  method  of  getting  out,  and  the  agony  of  thought 
was  worse  than  madness.  At  length  I  threw  myself  on  the 
floor,  and  sobbed  myself  to  sleep.  To  sleep — aye,  and  to 
dream — but  those  were  nightmare  dreams  of  horror. 

I  slept  about  an  hour.  When  I  awoke  I  could  scarcely 
think  tliat  last  night's  scene  was  real.  It  was  now  day.  I 
started  up.  I  was  still  dressed.  I  looked  around ;  the 
lamp  still  faintly  burned ;  the  fire  was  expiring  slowly.  I 
saw  that  it  was  all  true.  I  was  a  prisoner.  Why  ?  Where- 
fore ?  This  I  could  not  answer.  Dom  Balthazar  occurred 
to  me.  But  why  should  he  imprison  me  ?  This  was  not 
the  way  to  get  a  reward  from  a  loving,  heart-broken,  dove- 
like  pair  of  parents  such  as  I  had.  I  rejected  the  thought. 
But  then  was  it  not  a  contrivance  to  secure  me  so  as  to 
practice  against  Francesca  ?  I  started  to  my  feet  at  the 
suggestion.  Yes — ^this  it  was — this  it  was — the  secret  was 
out.  I  am  undone — and  she  ? — oh !  I  was  like  a  wild  beast. 
I  roared,  I  raved,  I  raged  against  my  prison.  The}'  will 
de-  03'  her — thej'  will  bear  her  away — she  will  be  murdered 
— and  I — am  powerless — .  After  a  wild  paroxysm,  I  must 
have  fallen  insensible,  for  when  I  recovered  I  found  food 


346     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

placed  near  me — ^bread  and  water — ^but  I  regarded  it  not. 
The  pangs  of  hunger  had  not  yet  seized  me.  My  mental 
sufferings  were  now  at  fever  heat.  Reader!  will  you  be- 
lieve it  ?  I  lay  in  this  place  for  three  whole  months.  I 
saw  no  one  but  servants.  I  was  denied  paper,  or  pens,  or 
ink ;  to  my  questions  I  received  no  answer.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  I  was  free.  I  flew  as  if  on  wings  to  the  place 
where  I  had  left  Francesca,  hoping  against  hope  that  I 
should  find  her  there.  She  was  gone — the  people  of  the 
house  knew  nothing  of  her.  She  had  received  a  letter  the 
morning  after  I  had  been  seized.  She  sat  up  for  me  the 
whole  night — ^poor  girl ! — wild,  wondering,  agitated.  In 
the  morning  a  letter  was  brought  from  Mr,  Smith.  She 
opened  and  read  it ;  she  danced  with  joy.  Oh !  I  am  going 
to  him,  she  said.  She  dressed  and  left  the  house;  she  had 
never  returned.  I  rushed  up-stairs — the  room  was  as  I 
had  left  it.  There  was  the  bed  unlain  on — the  withered 
violets — the  little  trunk  which  contained  our  all  in  the 
corner — the  volume  of  Tasso  which  she  had  been  reading, 
open  and  turned  down,  just  as  she  had  left  it  in  her  hurry. 
My  papers  were  untouched  ;  my  few  books  still  ready  for 
my  hand  in  the  usual  place.  All  reminded  me  of  her,  and 
my  irreparable  loss.  I  looked  into  the  people's  eyes  for 
tidings.  Alas !  the,y  could  give  none.  I  felt  my  heart 
sicken ;  my  brain  turned  around.  I  fell  down  in  convul- 
sions. 

Five  weeks  passed.  The  crisis  of  my  fever  was  gone.  In 
my  frenzy  I  had  revealed  all — ^my  real  name  and  rank — 
Francesca's  rights — mj'  fearful  sufferings.  When  I  re- 
covered, I  was  in  a  room  which  I  thought  I  knew  again. 
A  nurse  was  sitting  at  my  bedside.  She  put  her  hand  to 
her  lips  and  made  a  sign  to  be  still.  I  lay  down.  This,  said 
I,  also  is  a  dream.  It  is  like  my  old  room  at  Twickenham 
— but  this  cannot  be.     Yet  it  was.     For  in  a  few  days  I 


EDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAQU.     347 

was  better — I  rapidly  recovered.    I  was  well.     Lady  Mary 
came  into  ray  room.     She  looked  at  me  coldly,  and  said : 

"  So  you  have  come  back.  We  thought  you  were  dead 
long  ago.  We  did  not  know  you  had  been  a  madman. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  yourself?" 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

I  WAS  now  under  my  father's  roof,  and  intolerably 
wretched.  Lady  Mary  treated  me  with  coldness,  and  con- 
tempt, and  mockery.  My  father  was  immersed  in  politics 
and  money-getting.  With  him,  indeed,  the  first  was  only 
a  means  to  the  second,  for  he  was  above  all  vulgar  notions 
of  patriotism  or  public  duty.  He  never  came  near  me.  I 
secluded  myself  with  my  books.  He  did  not  appear  to 
remember  that  at  the  top  of  the  house  such  a  person  was 
in  existence.  I  could  not  bear  to  go  out,  or  even  to  look 
into  the  bright  open  air.  Francesca  was  lost  to  me  forever. 
This  was  the  fixed  conviction  on  my  soul.  I  should  have 
run  away  again  and  sought  Manasam  and  the  encampment, 
but  I  had  undone  myself  by  my  flight  with  Francesca  and 
my  encounter  with  the  G3'psy  Qaeen.  I  should  have  wan- 
dered back  to  Sale  and  Cave,  and  my  literary  friends — but 
why  labor  now  at  the  oar,  when  I  had  no  incentive  to  work  ? 
— when  I  had  no  Francesca  to  cheer  me,  no  companion 
whose  wants  I  might  supply  ?  I  sank  into  a  species  of 
lethargy;  all  my  powers  were  wrapped  in  lassitude.  I 
could  not  bear  to  see  or  speak  to  any  one.  I  ate  my  meals 
alone  and  in  silence.  I  did  not  suffer  the  servants  to  ad- 
dress me.  I  signified  my  wants  by  signs.  I  was  quiet  only 
when  I  was  wholly  solitary.  I  could  not  endure  to  look 
upon  a  human  face.    It  seemed  the  outward  visible  sign  of 


348     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

villany  and  falsehood.    I  then  thoroughly,  for  the  first  time 
grew  a  hater  of  my  species. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  I  woke  out  of  my  dreams,  and  began 
again  to  mingle  with  oi'dinary  life.  I  labored  hard  to  store 
my  mind  with  knowledge,  and  I  think  I  succeeded  to  some 
extent.  My  position  was  strange.  I  was  the  only  son  and 
expected  heir  of  a  great  Commoner,  yet  I  was  allowed  only 
something  like  ten  pounds  a  year  for  all  my  wants.  I  was 
not  absolutely  expelled  out  of  my  father's  house,  but  this 
was  all — I  was  just  tolerated  there.  If  I  pleased,  I  could 
have  gone ;  if  I  pleased,  I  could  stay.  This  was  the  cheer- 
ing sort  of  alternative  that  was  every  day  presented  to  me. 
For  sympathy  I  did  not  look,  for  I  was  conscious  of  the 
hate  of  one  and  the  indifference  of  the  other,  and  I  ardently 
reciprocated  both  sentiments.  They  thought,  I  suppose, 
that  as  I  was  dependent  on  Mr.  Montagu  for  wealth,  I 
should  fall  down  prostrate  and  worship  whenever  his  name 
was  mentioned ;  but  I  scorned  himself  and  his  money 
equally ;  I  would  not  enslave  myself  or  degrade  my  soul 
by  a  lying  pretence  of  a  love  which  I  did  not  feel  for  all 
his  wealth,  or  for  all  the  wealth  of  England.  While  I  pur- 
sued my  present  course  I  respected  myself;  but  if  I  became 
his  serf,  I  should  have  so  loathed  my  own  meanness  that  I 
should  have  cut  my  throat  to  avoid  the  horror  of  reflection. 
The  fashionable  world  could  not  understand  why  I  did  not 
adore  the  man  who  owned  a  million,  and  so  it  was  kiudlj'^ 
set  down  by  the  mass  of  boobies  to  my  own  perversity,  and 
wickedness,  and  folly — a  notion  which  my  mother  kindly 
encouraged.  WhercA'er  she  went,  she  represented  me  as  a 
rogue,  blockhead,  weathercock,  and  liar.  Fortunately,  she 
was  now  so  well  understood  that  her  calumnies  did  me  no 
harm ;  and  there  were  some  who  even  judged  for  themselves. 
The  women,  by  their  advances,  told  me  I  was  handsome ; 
the  men,  bj'  their  sneers  and  envy,  and  affected  coldness, 
convinced  me  that  I  was  learned ;  but  I  needed  not  eitlier 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      849 

tlie  women  or  the  men  to  give  me  this  pleasing  information, 
for  my  looking-glass  informed  me  of  the  first,  and  mj'  con- 
science whispered  me  of  the  second.  For  a  year  I  lived  as 
I  have  described ;  after  tliis  I  went  into  the  "  gay  world," 
where  every  thing  was  false,  hollow,  and  melancholy. 
There  was  a  perpetual  hunt  after  pleasure,  and  as  perpetual 
a  disappointment.  It  was  sought  in  routs,  balls,  ridottos, 
and  masquerades ;  in  the  opera,  at  auctions,  and  in  great 
supper  parties ;  in  races,  china  shops,  lotteries,  and  gam- 
bling. This  latter  virtue  the  women  carried  to  an  out- 
rageous extent,  and  m}'  mother  was  perpetually  involved 
in  money  squabbles,  in  consequence  of  her  reverses  at  cards ; 
in  stock-jobbing  also,  in  which  the  leaders  of  fine  society 
mingled  with  the  basest  covetousness  and  the  most  shame- 
faced boldness;  in  gallantrj'  and  intrigue,  with  a  total 
scorn  of  the  seventh  Commandment.  But  though  quested 
after  in  these  various  spheres  of  joy,  happiness  eluded  her 
votaries;  and  the  haggard  face,  the  wrinkled  brow,  the 
sickly  smile  that  never  sank  beneath  the  surface,  attested 
the  disappointment  and  the  vanity  of  human  wishes  when 
centred  only  in  externals. 

I  take  pride  in  myself  that  I  always  despised  these  follies ; 
nor  did  I  less  bitterly  scorn  their  wretched  votaries;  what 
to  me  at  this  period  were  the  painted  smiles  of  the  vain 
things  in  brocade  and  gold,  who — I  had  almost  written 
which  —  paraded  the  drawing-room,  or  sparkled  in  the 
dance  ?  I  tested  them  only  by  one  woman,  who  was  per- 
fect, and  I  need  not  add  they  would  not  bear  comparison. 
Tiie  innocent  beauty  of  my  Francesca  every  day  rose  up 
before  me  like  a  vision  of  Paradise  upon  some  enraptured 
mystic;  those  eyes,  full  of  virgin  light,  that  hair  that 
sparkled  so  lustrously  over  her  snow-white  neck,  as  I  have 
since  seen  the  golden  beam  of  sunset  rest  upon  an  Alpine 
peak;  that  mouth,  so  full  of  beauty;  that  voice,  which  was 
like  harp  strings  agitated  by  the  summer  breeze,  so  soft, 


350     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGHT. 

SO  sweet,  so  musical,  so  exquisitely  thrilling;  that  sonnd 
sense  and  exquisite  understanding  which,  though  a  child, 
she  manifested  in  all  things;  her  elevated  ambition;  her 
sympatliy  with  all  noble  and  pure  aspirations.  These  were 
what  I  had  lost  in  her,  and  feared  that  I  had  lost  forever. 
How  discover  her  ?  How  ascertain  if  she  was  not  even  at 
this  present  moment  in  the  hands  of  the  gypsies,  subjected 
to  the  chance  of  death,  wrong,  outrage  ? — I  knew  not  what, 
and  scarcely  dared  to  think. 

There  was  not  one  of  those  women  who  moved  around 
us  that  would  not  have  surrendered  herself  body  and  soul 
to  the  young  heir  of  the  wealthy  Wortley  Montagu.     I  was 
now  eighteen,  tall,  lively,  enterprising;  my  descent  was 
good,  my  connections  powerful.    What  more  did  I  need  to 
become  their  god  ?     Nothing.     But  I  did  not  profit  by  my 
opportunity.     A  profound  grief  kept  me  and  preserved  me 
sacred.     No  morning  dawned  that  I  did  not  devise  some 
scheme  to  discover  tidings  of  my  beloved;  no  sun  sank 
without  witnessing  my  baffled  hope   and   renewed  disap- 
pointment.   Yet  I  rose  again  next  day,  confident  as  before, 
but  still  doomed  to  the  vesper  mockery  of  my  hopes.     I 
employed  emissaries,  as  much  as  my  scanty  means  and 
credit  would  enable  me  to  do,  and  despatched  them  in  all 
directions  for  tidings  such  as  I  desired.     I  sought  out  the 
mad-house,  or  private  prison  where  I  had  been  confined, 
but  the  place  was  untenanted  and  desolate.     The  persons 
who  had  occupied  it  disappeared  immediately  after  my 
liberation,  and  left  no  trace  that  could  lead  to  their  dis- 
covery.    I  went  m3'self  and  saw  the  landlord.     He  ap- 
peared to  be  a  sort  of  Quaker,  and  like  Hogden,  and  others 
of  my  electioneering  hj^pocritical  friends,  made  great  pre- 
tensions to  piety ;  he  even  affected  to  sympathize  with  me 
— for  I  hinted  my  sufferings — but  he  could  give  me  no  in- 
formation of  his  former  tenants.     I  knew  by  his  look  that 
he  lied,  but  it  was  useless  to  tell  him  that  I  thought  so. 


BDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAQIT.  851 

Among  those  who  saw  me  frequently  at  this  period  was 
my  cousin  Fielding — ^the  chance  companion  in  my  first 
wild  escapade  to  Oxford.  He  was  now  a  literary  character 
of  some  repute.  His  father,  General  Fielding,  had  thrown 
him  loose  upon  London  almost  without  a  penny,  and  he 
began  to  live  by  his  wits,  or  rather  to  starve  by  them,  for 
nothing  could  be  more  precarious  than  his  mode  of  sub- 
sistence. He  was  scarcely  twenty,  when  in  172Y,  four  years 
or  so  before  the  period  of  which  I  am  now  writing,  he 
picked  up  a  sort  of  scrambling  acquaintance  with  the 
players,  to  whom  wit,  conviviality  and  ga}'  humor  are  al- 
ways a  recommendation,  and  became  intimate  with  Wilkes 
and  Gibber,  who  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Oldfield,  then  pre- 
serving by  her  bounteous  generosity  the  wretched  Savage 
from  starvation.  He  described  his  exact  position  in  one 
sentence.  "I  had  no  alternative,"  he  said,  "but  to  become 
a  hackney  coachman,  or  a  hackney  writer,  and  I  chose  the 
latter."  Ah!  me,  methinks  he  would  have  been  more  for- 
tunate, had  he  taken  to  the  rein,  or  even  to  the  road,  than 
to  literature  in  this  accursed  era.  The  poor  youth,  driven 
to  his  wit's  ends  to  pay  his  tailor,  or  buy  a  dinner,  or 
supply  his  father,  scribbled  off  a  comedy  called  '■^Love  in 
several  Masques,"  which  was  produced  at  Drury  Lane,  and 
dedicated  to  my  mother  in  virtue  of  her  relationship  to  the 
distressed  author.  Like  all  writers,  he  fooled  her  to  the 
top  of  her  bent,  as  far  as  flattery  was  concerned ;  and  had 
she  possessed  only  a  tithe  of  those  magnificent  qualities 
for  which  he  gave  her  credit,  I  should  not  have  written 
these  Confessions,  nor  would  my  father  have  left  his  hardly- 
hoarded  money  to  a  Scotch  scoundrel  like  Bute.  But  poor 
Fielding  was  not  the  first  who  mistook  a  cloud  for  a  god- 
dess ;  for  he  got  nothing  from  Lady  Mary  but  a  smile. 
His  relationship,  and  connection  with  the  papers,  however, 
produced  him  an  introduction  into  our  house,  which  was 
of  some  use  to  a  young  fellow  struggling  hard  in  the  wild 


352     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

sea  of  London.  Lady  Mary,  I  suppose,  discovered  from 
him  our  accidental  meeting  when  boys  so  many  years  ago, 
and  she  now  threw  us  together.  I  rather  suspect  her  ob- 
ject was  to  let  Fielding  drag  me  into  his  own  headlong 
course  of  dissipation,  as  a  means  of  making  me  forget  my 
Francesca ;  for  my  lady  well  knew  by  this  time  that  I  was 
married,  and  though  she  could  have  no  doubt  that  Francesca 
was  of  noble  birth,  still  she  always  spoke  of  her  as  "  a  wash- 
erwoman," which  would  have  been  laughable  for  its  absurd- 
ity, only  that  it  was  galling  for  its  insolence.  From  several 
circumstances  I  began  to  fancy  that  Lady  Mary  herself 
was  privy  to  the  plot  which  had  rudely  separated  us  both ; 
for  she  exhibited  so  much  malignity  and  feminine  spite 
whenever  that  loved  name  was  mentioned  by  me,  that  I 
could  scarcely  attribute  either  to  exist  against  one  who 
was  an  entire  stranger.  I  subsequently  learned  that  my 
suspicions  were  correct,  and  that  while  Lady  Mary  well 
knew  nearly  every  thing  relating  to  Francesca,  she  took 
care  to  give  them  such  a  coloring  to  my  father,  that  he  also 
believed  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  she  was  of  ignoble 
birth,  and  little  better  than  an  impostor  who  inveigled  a 
rich  man's  son  into  a  marriage  with  the  most  sordid  view. 
Fielding  was  too  noble  a  fellow,  and  too  sharpwitted 
also,  to  be  made  a  complying  tool  of,  even  by  one  so  inge- 
nious as  Lady  Mary.  Himself  a  man  of  quick  and  ardent 
sensibilities,  and  notwithstanding  all  his  grossness,  of  the 
purest  sentimentalism  when  true  love  was  in  the  debate ; 
he  was  so  moved  by  my  artless  descriptions  of  her  whom  I 
had  lost,  and  of  the  felicity  we  had  enjoyed  in  our  brief 
summer  time  of  rapture,  that  I  have  seen  the  tears  roll 
down  his  manly  face,  and  he  would  sit  for  several  minutes 
in  a  thoughtful  reverie,  in  which  sympathy  for  me  had  a 
large  share,  and  hatred  of  my  enemies  a  still  larger.  So 
far  from  conducting  me  into  those  scenes  of  boisterous 
madness,  in  which  he  was  nightly  indulging,  and  which 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      353 

finally  destroyed  one  of  the  finest  constitutions  ever  given 
to  a  man,  he  dissuaded  me  from  any  such  resource,  and 
deplored  his  own  failings  with  a  bitterness  that  was  sincere 
at  the  moment,  but  which  melted  away  in  the  first  glass  of 
generous* claret  that  he  SMallowed.  He  even  aided  me  in 
my  inquiries,  under  a  solemn  pledge  that  I  would  not  dis- 
cover him  to  my  lady ;  and  from  his  versatile  acquaintance 
with  human  nature,  and  his  profound  sense,  wherever  his 
own  passions  did  not  interfere,  he  gave  me  advice  as  to 
her  discovery,  which  would  probably  have  been  successful, 
had  Francesca  been  in  England.  But  an  incident  that 
occurred  soon  after,  by  putting  me  in  the  right  track  for 
discovering  her,  proved  that  all  my  efforts  had  been  mis- 
directed, and  that  I  failed,  because  to  succeed  was  an  im- 
possibility. 

Fielding  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  to  me  about  his 
literary  projects,  and  I  communicated  to  him  in  time  what 
I  had  learned  from  Akiba  my  Gooroo.  We  had  many  dis- 
putations on  the  metempsychosis,  or  transmigration  of 
souls,  and  it  was  after  one  of  the  conferences  that  he  men- 
tioned to  me  his  notion  of  writing  a  little  novel  on  that 
subject,  in  which,  using  this  Brahminical  doctrine,  he 
might  give  expression  to  that  curious  medley  of  observa- 
tion and  experience  which  he  possessed,  and  conduct  one 
of  his  characters  through  a  variety  of  scenes  as  mixed  and 
as  surprising  as  those  of  Gil  Bias,  or  Asmodeus.  I  ap- 
proved of  the  notion,  which  had  every  thing  in  it  likely  to 
attract  a  youthful  imagination,  and  in  a  few  weeks  he 
brought  me  that  sketch  of  the  Emperor  Julian,  which  he 
afterwards  introduced  into  his  strange  work  entitled,  "^ 
Journey  from,  this  World  to  the  next."  I  read  it  and  was 
pleased.  The  motley  nature  of  the  scenes  through  which 
the  deceased  Emperor  transmigrates,  operating  on  an 
imagination  half  Arab,  half  gypsy,  deeply  impressed  my 
mind,  and  I  thought  to  myself  if  I  were  free  this  is  just 
23 


354     EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU. 

the  sort  of  life  I  should  like  to  lead.  I  should  traverse 
many  lands  and  appear  in  many  characters.  To-day  a 
pilgrim,  to-morrow  a  gentleman,  now  a  soldier,  now  a  mer- 
chant, this  time  a  sailor,  the  next  a  physician,  a  Jew  one 
week,  a  Mohammedan  the  following,  a  priest,  a  'fiddler,  a 
quaker  or  a  buffoon, — there  was  rapture  in  the  idea,  and  I 
fed  my  fancy  upon  it  tiU  I  had  lived  through  a  whole 
romance. 

In  the  midst  of  our  discussions,  I  one  morning  proposed 
to  him  an  excursion  to  Portslade,  and  an  investigation 
personally  into  the  condition  of  my  gypsy  friends.  We 
had  a  few  guineas,  and  we  went  by  the  coach.  Some  odd 
adventures  befel  us,  which  Fielding  afterwards  used  in  his 
romance  of  "  Joseph  Andrews,"  but  they  are  not  worth 
referring  to  in  this  place.  "We  got  to  Brighthelmstone, 
and  I  took  up  my  quarters  there  at  an  inn,  while  Fielding 
proceeded  to  the  encampment.  He  was  away  the  whole 
afternoon,  and  when  he  returned  late  in  the  evening,  he 
was  a  good  deal  excited.  He  then  gave  me  the  following 
account  of  his  adventures : 

"  I  took  the  route  you  pointed  out,  and  after  lingering 
about  the  lanes  for  some  time,  I  puUed  out  a  pocket  book, 
and  began  to  sketch  that  old  ruin,  on  which  the  camp  of 
your  friends  abutted.  I  had  not  been  very  long  employed, 
when  a  very  pretty  gypsy  came  up  to  me,  and  asked  me  to 
cross  her  palm  with  gold.  I  looked  at  her  sparkling  eyes 
and  roguish  face,  and  I  half  envied  you  your  sojourn 
among  these  engaging  Ishmaelites.  Ah,  Wortley,  you 
must  have  seen  some  strange  amusing  sights,  and  you 
must  give  me  an  account  of  them  in  detail  some  day,  for 
some  great  and  wonderful  work  of  fiction  in  which  we  shall 
go  shares.  You  may  suppress  all  your  own  intrigues,  or 
dish  them  up  under  another  name,  but  you  must  at  least 
give  me  a  full,  true  and  particular  narration  of  the 
" '  Battles,  dangert,  sieges  you  hare  passed.' 


BDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     355 

"  I  told  the  wench  that  gold  was  to  me  one  of  the  larest 
commodities  in  tiie  world,  but  that  I  would  give  her  a  kiss 
or  a  piece  of  silver,  if  she  could  tell  me  where  I  could  find 
one  Manasam,  one  of  her  people,  as  I  had  a  message  for 
him  from  an  old  acquaintance.  Now,  by  one  of  the  rarest 
chances  in  the  world,  this  girl  had  known  your  wife,  and 
had  a  sort  of  wild  attachment  to  both  of  you,  and  before  I 
had  quite  finished  my  sentence,  she  divined  what  I  came 
for,  and  burst  out  with — 

" '  Ah,  I  know  you.  You  came  from  Zala-Mayna.  Is  it 
not  so  ?' 

"  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  that  before  I  had  time  to 
invent  a  lie  I  was  forced  to  confess  that  it  was  so,  and 
when  I  had  so  disburdened  my  soul,  she  said — 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  We  have  all  been 
Surry  for  the  poor  boy,  and  have  wished  a  thousand  evils 
on  that  accursed  Dom  Balthazar  for  interfering  with  them ; 
but  Zala-Mayna  did  wrong  to  strike  the  Gypsy  Queen,  and 
it  will  never  be  forgiven  by  the  tribe.  Had  he  been  seized 
that  night,  he  would  have  been  stoned  to  death — such  is 
the  penalty  by  our  law ;  and  even  still,  if  he  should  be  in 
their  power,  I  know  not  but  they  would  inflict  it.  But  if 
you  give  me  the  piece  of  silver  you  spoke  of,  I  wUl  seek 
out  Manasam — though  I  should  be  sorry  any  of  the  tribe 
knew  what  I  was  doing.  However,  Dom  Balthazar  is  gone, 
so  I  don't  fear  much.' 

"  I  gave  her  the  silver ;  but  when  I  offered  her  what  1 
thought  would  have  been  the  more  agreeable  half  of  the 
present,  namely  the  kiss,  she  gave  me  a  smart  slap  in  the 
face,  which  I  assure  you  I  feel  still. 

"  She  then  told  me  that  I  must  not  linger  in  the  place 
but  get  back  to  the  town  as  speedily  as  I  could.  'It  would 
never  do,'  she  said,  '  for  Manasam  and  myself  to  be  seen 
together.  There  were  a  dozen  prying  eyes  always  about? 
the  camp,  and  Manasam  had  always  shown  so  much  sorrow 


356     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

for  Zala-Mayna's  misadventure  that  he  was  narrowly- 
watched  b}'  the  tribe,  and  would  get  into  trouble  if  he  were 
seen  conversing  with  me.  She  asked  me  where  I  stayed, 
and  I  told  her.    I  expect  the  gypsy  here  to-night." 

Ordering  up  a  fresh  bottle,  he  opened  wide  his  legs  before 
the  fire,  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  with  the  ap- 
parent determination  of  a  man  who  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  enjoy  himself  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening  with  the 
best  that  he  could  get.  The  wine  appeared,  and  after  a 
hearty  glass.  Fielding  resumed — 

"  Wortley,  my  dear  boy,  I  don't  know  what  your  lady 
mother  will  say  to  me  if  she  ever  finds  out  I  have  been 
your  companion  in  this  adventure.  If  she  should,  no  more 
Twickenham  for  me ;  no  more  sugared  compliments.  I 
shall  become  as  odious  to  her  as  Pope  or  Swift,  and  she 
will  pursue  me  with  unrelenting  lampoonery — 

**  Women,  yoa  tmow,  do  seldom  fail 
To  make  the  stoutest  men  turn  tail, 
And  bravely  scorn  to  turn  their  backs 
UiMn  the  desperatest  attacks. 

"  But  I  suppose  I  must  risk  all,  for  there  is  a  spice  of 
adventure  about  this  love-feat  of  yours  that  pleases  me, 
and  I  verily  believe  it  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  I  should 
myself  have  liked  above  all  others.  For  there  is  so  much 
paint,  folly,  and  flippant  falsehood  about  our  court  and 
drawing-room  dames,  that  I  would  any  day  prefer  a  hay- 
maker or  milkmaid  to  the  finest  duchess  in  the  land — so 
long,  I  mean,  as  I  had  the  price  of  a  dinner  and  a  bottle  in 
my  pocket.  That  is  a  rare  occurrence."  And  my  cousin 
sighed  from  his  very  heart.  He  solaced  himself  with  an- 
other glass,  and  as  he  did  so  Manasam  was  announced. 

The  gypsy  was  little  altered  since  1  had  last  seen  him. 
I  rose  up  and  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand.  I  looked 
into  his  eyes,  and  could  see  that  his  friendship  was  sincere. 
He  felt  an  honest  interest  in  my  welfare,  that  was  written 


EDWABD  WOBTLBT  MONTAGU.     857 

there  as  plainly  as  it  was  possible  for  Nature  to  write.  Fot 
Nature  pens  his  character  on  the  front  of  every  man  in 
letters  plainly  legible  to  all  who  use  their  eyes,  and  they 
who  do  not  deserve  to  be  deceived.  I  have  never  yet  seen 
that  face  which  was  not  to  me  as  an  open  book,  wherein 
every  trait  of  the  soul,  every  passion  of  the  heart,  every 
habit  of  the  spirit  was  clearly  traced  by  the  unerring  hand 
of  Nature,  or  rather  of  God ;  and  as  He  cannot  deceive  or  be 
deceived,  it  is  we  only  who  err  in  our  estimate  of  human- 
kind for  want  of  bestowing  proper  attention  upon  those 
with  whom  we  come  in  contact.  Were  I  a  monarch  or 
a  prime  minister,  I  would  undertake  that  no  man  should 
ever  enter  my  immediate  service  until  he  had  passed  through 
my  close  scrutiny ;  and  this  obtained,  I  should  not  be  de- 
ceived. No  man  or  woman  has  ever  misled  me,  for  where 
my  observation  fails,  instinct  comes  to  my  aid,  and  I  know 
them  all  thoroughly  and  well,  though  under  the  most  artful 
mask.  This  probably  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  take  a 
more  gloomy  view  of  life,  and  indulge  in  more  sarcastic 
observations  than  pleases  the  many.  For  as  they  judge  by 
the  mere  outside,  they  are  every  moment  deceived  by  their 
own  superficiality,  taking  mankind  for  what  they  appear 
to  be;  and  as  it  is  the  interest  of  the  majority  to  seem. 
good,  the  shallow  suppose  them  to  be  what  they  seem,  and 
all  those  who  have  penetrated  deeper  they  call  misanthro- 
pists, evil  minded,  and  detractors.  I  who  have  the  art  of 
piercing  beneath  the  false  outside,  and  beholding,  as  in  a 
map,  all  the  true  nature  of  a  man,  delineated  unto  even  its 
finest  strokes,  speak  of  them  as  I  find  them,  and  as  God 
will  see  them  on  that  dreadful  day  of  judgment,  when  the 
secrets  of  all  hearts  shall  be  disclosed.  Hence,  if  in  this 
narrative  I  please,  I  shall  please  few;  the  great  mob  of 
readers  will  run  after  him  who  paints  man  in  genial  colors, 
and  thus  contributes  to  those  delusions  which  delight  us 
all,  even  when  they  mislead  us  most. 
23 


858     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

I  invited  Manasam  to  be  seated,  and  poured  out  a  glass 
for  him ;  but  with  the  abstemious  habits  of  his  people,  he 
declined  the  draught.     He  took  a  biscuit  and  began. 

"Much,  0  Zala-Mayna,  have  I  longed  for  this  hour; 
much  have  I  lamented  that  I  knew  not  where  you  could  be 
found,  or  that  I  heard  not  from  you.  I  returned  some 
days  after  you  had  fled.  Dom  Balthazar  had  broke  his  leg 
when  his  horse  fell  on  him ;  he  lay  on  the  road  till  day- 
break, when  he  was  discovered  by  some  of  our  people  who 
had  tracked  your  course.  He  said  that  he  had  ascertained 
your  real  name  and  position — that  you  were  of  great  and 
noble  blood,  and  had  deceived  our  trusting  people  with 
a  false  device.  It  was  rumored  also  that  he  was  to  receive 
a  sum  of  money  for  bringing  you  back  to  your  father  and 
mother ;  and  a  large  reward  if  he  could  separate  you  and 
Francesca  forever.  I  rather  fancy  he  knows  her  uncle.  I 
rather  think  he  is  in  his  employ  to  find  Francesca  out,  and 
that  if  he  can  by  any  means  place  her  in  his  hands,  great 
will  be  the  treasure  he  is  to  receive.  Guard  her  therefore,  O 
Zala-Mayna,  as  the  life-blood  of  your  heart  from  Dom  Bal- 
thazar, for  he  will  part  you  if  he  can." 

I  groaned,  but  remained  silent.  Manasam  was  evidently 
ignorant  of  the  loss  that  I  had  sustained.  I  did  not  inter- 
rupt him. 

"The  Gypsy  Queen  also  vowed  a  vow  of  vengeance 
against  you.  It  was  resolved  in  full  assembly  that  if  you 
were  discovered  and  brought  back  you  should  die.  Akiba 
and  I  were  not  of  this  council ;  if  we  had  been,  we  proba- 
bly should  have  felt  ourselves  constrained  to  sanction  it, 
for  it  is  a  law  of  our  people,  and  cannot  be  broken.  The 
person  of  the  Queen  is  sacred.  Dom  Balthazar  disappeared 
fi-om  among  us  for  many  moons ;  at  length  he  returned 
and  announced  that  you  were  a  prisoner.  Ho  was  asked 
why  he  had  not  brought  you  to  the  tents,  that  you  might 
die  ?    He  laughed,  and  produced  gold — ^gold  immense — the 


IDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.      359 

price  of  your  bondage.  This,  he  said,  the  tribe  gains  by 
his  life — but  nothing  should  we  secure  b}-^  his  death.  The 
gold  was  divided.  Yet  there  were  many  who  would  have 
preferred  vengeance,  and  the  law.  Dom  Balthazar  said  no 
more.  In  a  few  days  he  departed  for  Spain,  where  he  now 
is.  He  dropped  mysterious  hints,  but  we  understood  them 
not.  Since  then  we  have  lived  as  before ;  but  no  one  has 
inquired  for  Francesca ;  she  is  safe  with  you.  Is  it  not  so, 
0  Zala-Mayna?" 

Alas !  I  could  not  answer.  Fielding  told  him  of  my  loss. 
Manasam  was  affected.  We  consulted  what  was  to  bo 
done ;  but  nothing  seemed  to  offer  us  a  chance  of  discover- 
ing where  Francesca  was.  She  had  evidently  been  lured 
away  by  Dom  Balthazar — ^but  whither  ? 

A  light  flashed  on  me. 

"  You  said  he  went  to  Spain,  Manasam.  What  business 
bore  him  thither?"     Manasam  did  not  know. 

"  Depend  upon  it,"  said  Fielding,  "  Francesca  is  in  a 
Spanish  Convei^,  and  Dom  Balthazar  was  her  convoy.  I 
know  the  gentlemen  of  these  places,  and  what  they  will  do 
for  gold.     Many  of  the  abbots  are  Zingari  themselves." 

I  restored  Manasam  his  pistols,  and  offered  him  five 
guineas.  He  accepted  the  first,  but  peremptorily  refused 
the  second.  After  a  long  interview  we  separated  for  the 
night.  He  promised  to  see  me  again  next  day.  On  the 
morrow  he  came  with  Akiba.  I  was  pleased  to  see  this 
old  man.  Fielding  was  greatly  struck  by  him.  He  said, 
he  made  him  think  of  the  ghost  of  Samuel  appearing  to 
Saul.  We  dined  and  passed  the  whole  day  together.  I 
invited  him  to  divine  for  us.  Akiba  at  first  refused  ;  but 
he  could  not  long  withstand  entreaties  urged  so  passionately 
as  mine  were.  He  called  for  water,  and  dropped  a  small 
quantity  into  my  hand ;  he  then  threw  me  into  a  magnetic 
trance,  such  as  I  had  once  before  witnessed  when  he  used 
the  mystical  Waren.    And  this  was  what  I  then  saw. 


360     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

A  small  cell  of  hewn  stone  was  opened  before  me,  the 
light  penetrated  dimly  through  iron  bars.  There  was  a 
wretched  pallet  and  a  jug  of  water.  It  seemed  an  apart- 
ment in  some  vast  building.  An  air  of  gloom  pervaded 
the  whole  scene ;  it  was  in  the  shadow  of  mighty  mountains. 
Every  thing  seemed  still,  desolate  and  monotonous.  A  small 
book  lay  on  the  floor  ;  a  rosary  was  on  the  bed.  It  might 
have  been  at  first  sight  a  dungeon,  but  there  was  no 
warder's  tread,  nor  clank  of  chain.  It  impressed  me  with 
the  notion  of  one  of  those  immense  convents  that  are  found 
in  such  great  numbers  all  through  the  Peninsula ;  prisons 
indeed,  and  full  of  dungeons,  and  horrors  and  dread  secrets ; 
but  guarded  by  a  force  stronger  than  that  of  sentinel  or 
fetter — the  force  of  ignorance  and  superstition.  As  I  looked, 
the  idea  of  solitude,  silence,  desolation  and  wretchedness 
became  more  and  more  impressed  on  my  mind.  I  could 
feel  them  like  a  heavy  weight  upon  my  heart ;  they  loaded 
me ;  they  weighed  me  down  like  atmospheric  pressure.  I 
could  discover  in  that  pressure  the  sad  and  fearful  mass  of 
sufferings,  sorrow  and  despair  that  were  congregated  within 
that  dreadful  place.    My  heart  was  filled  almost  to  bursting. 

Suddenly  a  door  in  the  cell  opened.  0  1  Heavens,  how 
shall  I  support  this  sight?  It  was  my  Francesca — my 
loved,  my  adored,  my  lost  wife.  Gloom  and  wretchedness 
were  printed  deeply  in  every  feature;  her  eyes  were  red 
with  weeping ;  they  were  fixed  with  a  cold  despair.  That 
young  face  bore  the  tracks  of  tears — the  furrows  of  age 
were  already  methought  traced  upon  it.  She  entered  with 
a  slow  step — the  step  of  one  who  moves  despondingly  to 
the  scaffold,  and  who  seeks  to  protract  every  minute  be- 
tween himself  and  fate.  There  was  a  whole  volume  of 
misery  in  that  measured  walk — she  who  had  been  so  light, 
so  buoyant ;  like  the  thistle  down  that  swims  on  the  sum- 
mer breeze — like  the  winged  beautiful  moth  that  floats  in 
sunshine  and  dances  on  the  passing  winds ;  like  the  spark- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      861 

ling  wave  that  rises  to  the  sunbeam  and  is  wafted  with  a 
motion  like  that  of  music  to  the  strand.  I  would  have 
spoken,  but  I  could  not.  I  would  have  stretched  out  my 
arms  to  enfold  her,  for  she  seemed  within  my  reach ;  but 
the  magnetic  force  held  me  tight  within  its  grasp,  and  I 
was  powerless  in  every  limb.  Eye  and  brain  alone  were 
free ;  for  the  rest  I  was  a  marble  statue.  Her  heart  heaved ; 
a  heavy  sigh  burst  forth,  but  it  was  not  followed  by  tears ; 
alas !  that  sweet  fountain  must  have  been  drained  dry.  She 
took  the  rosary,  looked  at  it  a  moment,  and  put  it  away. 
She  raised  the  book  and  strove  to  read,  but  I  could  see 
that  though  her  eyes  were  turned  upon  its  page,  her 
thoughts  wandered  away,  and  were  afar  off.  She  raised  her 
head  to  the  bars,  and  sighed  again  deeply.  Then  leaning 
on  her  hand-  she  covered  her  face,  and  bursting  into  an 
agony  of  woe,  flung  herself  on  the  hard  floor. 

Akiba  saw  my  agony,  and  released  me  from  my  trance. 
Oh !  who  can  tell  what  misery  I  felt  ?  I  was  again  mad  as 
I  had  been  before.  It  required  the  strength  of  all  three  to 
hold  me.  The  paroxysm  lasted  for  some  minutes ;  at  length 
I  fell  exhausted.  Next  day  Fielding  told  me  what  had 
passed,  and  accompanied  me  to  London.  When  I  got  to 
Twickenham,  without  a  moment's  pause  I  rushed  into  my 
mother's  room.  She  was  reading  a  letter,  which  she  has- 
tily crushed  up  when  she  saw  me. 

"  Woman,"  I  cried,  "give  me  back  my  wife  of  whom  you 
have  robbed  me.     Give  her  back  to  me,  or  tremble." 

She  seemed  frightened  at  my  energy.  It  was  enough  to 
make  her  so.  She  grew  white  as  death.  But  the  clever 
woman  conquered  her  fears  immediately,  and  half  smiled. 

"Mad  boy,"  she  said;  "what  do  you  say?  How  know  I 
any  thing  of  that  person?  I  suppose  she  is  making  up 
fine  linen  somewhere.  If  she  wanted  you  she  would  have 
found  you  by  this." 

"Woman,"  I  answered;   "not  worthy  of  the  name  of 


862  EDWARD     "WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

mother ;  cold,  heartless  and  wicked  as  you  are ;  have  yon 
so  utterly  lost  all  human  feeling  as  to  see  me  die  before 
your  face  by  inches  and  not  stretch  forth  a  hand  to  save  ? 
You  have  ever  been  my  bitterest  enemy.  You  have  pois- 
oned my  father's  heart  against  me.  You  have  sought  to 
drive  me  forth  forever  from  his  roof.  Well,  exult,  rejoice, 
be  glad  at  length,  for  you  have  succeeded.  Give  me  but  a 
hundred  pounds  and  I  will  leave  your  sight  forever.  Give 
it  me  this  moment,  for  I  ara  half  mad." 

"A  hundred  pounds  1  and  for  what  ?  To  give  to  your 
pretty  laundress  ?" 

I  could  have  stabbed  her  that  instant.  But  I  answered 
coldly,  "  I  want  to  go  to  Spain." 

She  started  involuntarily,  but  almost  instantly  recovered 
herself.  I  watched  her  with  an  intent,  calm  gaze.  I  thought 
T  saw  her  guilt  in  that  unconscious  start. 

"  To  Spain,  fool,  and  why  ?" 

"Madam,"  I  answered,  "you  know.  Give  me  the 
money." 

"  I  have  none,"  she  replied ;  "  and  if  I  had  I  am  not  going 
to  let  you  squander  it  in  frenzy.  We  have  had  enough  of 
this  already.     Leave  the  room ;  I  am  engaged." 

"What,"  I  said,  "you  are  engaged?  With  what?  and 
how?  With  love-letters  from  your  Hervey  ?" — she  gave 
another  start — "  with  assignations  and  intrigues ;  with 
satirical  verses  on  all  your  female  friends  and  male  pur- 
suers, and  all  the  devilish  machinery  that  makes  the  fabric 
of  your  whole  life  ?  Well,  go  on.  There  shall  come  a  day 
when  I  also  shall  have  my  hour  of  retribution.  I  go ;  I 
leave  your  presence.  Solace  yourself  with  your  daughter. 
Deceive,  plot,  scheme,  to  enrich  her  with  all  that  is  justly 
mine,  and  let  that  heartless  cully,  who  thinks  himself  her 
father,  endow  her  with  imperial  wealth.  Even  this  shall 
not  break  my  spirit,  nor  make  me  bend  to  either.  Nemesis 
will  avenge  me,  and  in  the  gloomy  evening  of  your  life. 


HDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      863 

when  frivolity  shall  fail,  and  folly  cease  to  charm,  you 
shall  curse  this  hour,  and  pine  amid  a  land  of  strangers 
and  of  foes  for  the  soothing  presence  of  your  son." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

I  WENT  straight  to  Fielding.  That  admirable  philoso- 
pher was  then  living  at  Buckingham  street,  in  the  Strand. 
By  a  rare  chance  I  found  him  at  home.  He  was  usually 
denied  to  all  inquirers.  He  was  stretched  on  a  sofa,  a 
bottle  of  wine  by  his  side,  and  a  plate  of  cold  meat.  A 
lad^^'s  black  silk  mask  and  a  pair  of  gold  fringed  gloves 
gave  evidence  of  some  affair  of  the  heart.  His  table  was 
covered  with  papers,  and  he  was  evidently  hard  at  work  at 
a  comedy  or  a  love-letter  when  I  entered.  I  informed  him 
of  what  had  just  happened.  He  laughed  a  good  deal  at 
the  scene  with  Lady  Mary.  Filling  out  a  glass  of  wine, 
which  he  pushed  towards  me,  he  said,  "  This  is  my  cure  for 
all  troubles;  let  me  recommend  it  also  to  you;"  and  he 
almost  forced  me  to  drink  it  off.  He  helped  himself  to  an- 
other and  another,  and  then  asked  me  what  I  meant  to  do 
with  myself. 

"  I  mean  to  leave  England  and  seek  Francesca." 

"  A  very  good  resolution,"  he  answered.  "  How  many 
thousands  have  you  got  out  of  the  old  gentleman  ?  I  hope 
you  have  bled  him  finely.  Faith  I  should  not  mind  going 
with  you." 

"Thousands!"  I  replied,  "why  I  have  come  to  borrow 
a  few  pounds  from  you.  Thousands,  indeed,  from  Mr. 
Montagu — you  must  be  jesting." 

Fielding  looked  at  me  with  great  gravity ;  he  seemed  to 
doubt  whether  I  was  in  my  senses. 


364     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"TJpon  my  soul,  Wortley,"  says  he,  when  his  amaze- 
ment had  worn  off,  "  if  mine  were  a  jest,  j^our  notion  is  far 
more  comical.  To  think  of  borrowing  a  few  pounds  from 
me,  who  live  by  borrowing  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence 
from  every  one  else,  is  right  good,  and  I  congratulate  you 
on  the  bright  idea.  It  was  worthy  of  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer.     Why,  how  do  you  expect  I  live  ?" 

"  By  your  wits,  doubtless,  and  they  coin  gold.  Besides, 
your  father  allows  you  an  annuity." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven,  my  boy,  it  were  so,  and  none  should 
Bhare  it  sooner  with  me  than -yourself;  but  though  my 
father  makes  me  an  allowance,  he  always  forgets  to  pay  it. 
I  have  not  had  a  shilling  which  I  could  call  my  own  for 
the  last  six  months.  I  am  now  driven  to  my  last  shift.  I 
should  take  a  rope,  or  go  on  the  highway,  but  for  this 
comfort — claret.  CoUey  will  no  longer  lend  me  any  thing, 
and  though  Mrs.  Clive  wants  me  to  become  her  debtor,  it 
is  a  thing  I  never  will  do.  She  has  a  father,  a  husband,  a 
sister,  and  herself  to  support.  Why  should  such  a  worth- 
less fellow  as  Harry  Fielding  be  added  to  the  number? 
Yet  it  is  with  difficulty  I  can  refuse  her  generosity ;  and  it 
gives  me  pain  to  see  her  feel  my  refusal  as  a  slight.  But, 
poor  as  I  am,  1  will  never  act  in  a  way  unworthy  of  a  man 
of  honor.  But  let  me  see — ^let  me  see — can't  we  swindle 
some  damned  tailor  out  of  fifty  pounds  ?" 

"  I  do  not  possess  so  rare  an  appendage  as  a  tailor. 
My  father  has  never  suffered  me  to  order  my  own  clothes ; 
he  has  always  kept  me  like  a  boy,  and  I  do  not  know  a 
single  tradesman." 

"  It  is  a  most  infernal  shame,"  say^s  Fielding,  "  for  if  you 
had,  we  could  easily  have  got  plenty  of  money  out  of  the 
rogues,  and  would  have  a  trip  together  to  the  dominions 
of  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty,  where  we  might  get  some- 
thing from  the  priests  for  turning  Papists.  What  then 
is  to  be  done  ?" 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      865 

Why,  I  suppose  I  must  go  away  without  money." 

"A  capital  notion — excellent — excellent.  You  mean,  I 
suppose,  to  get  out  of  England  as  Siubad  did  out  of  his  dia- 
mond cave,  by  tying  yourself  to  a  roc.     Isn't  that  it  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  then,  I  know  no  other  method  for  a  man  without 
money  to  get  into  Spain.    What's  your  project  ?" 

"I  intend  simply  to  go  on  board  ship,  and  work  my 
passage  out  as  a  common  sailor." 

Fielding  looked  at  me  incredulously.  He  laughed,  and 
took  another  glass  of  wine.  The  notion  seemed  to  take 
him  by  surprise.  He  had  evidently  never  before  thought 
of  such  a  thing. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  who  can  raise  unlimited  thou- 
sands by  post  obits,  or  by  going  in  debt  to  the  Jews,  are 
such  a  regular  nincompoop  as  to  prefer  working  your 
passage  out  before  the  mast,  by  the  labor  of  your  hands, 
wliy  I  will  put  you  into  my  Common-place  book,  among 
the  most  remarkable  eccentricities  in  England ;  and  would 
certainly  introduce  you  on  the  stage  in  one  of  my  farces, 
only  thatj  if  I  did,  I  fear  it  would  be  damned  by  the  critics 
for  being  false  to  all  modem  notions  of  nature  and  reality." 

"  However  that  may  be,  I  will  cheat  no  one,  except  my- 
self, and  will  never  raise  a  penny  on  post  obits  or  by  the 
Jews.  I  should  be  a  common  swindler  if  I  did ;  for  I  know 
my  father  will  never  leave  me  a  sixpence." 

"  And  is  there  a  young  man  of  fashion  in  England  or 
out  of  it,  who  would  not  swindle  a  Jew  or  a  tailor  if  he 
could  ?  Are  not  they  ever  engaged  in  swindling  us  f  What 
then  is  the  lex  talionis  for?" 

"  For  rogues,  no  doubt ;  but  not  for  you  or  me,  Harry." 

"Well,  Wortley,  I  believe  there  is  some  good  in  you 
still.  Who  the  devil  is  that  ?"  and  Fielding  half  rose,  as  if 
about  to  retreat,  and  turned  rather  pale,  as  he  heard  rather 
a  loud  knock  at  the  door.    His  fears,  however,  were  as  in- 


866     EDWAED  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

stantly  dispelled,  for  a  vulgar,  bnll-puppy-faced,  short  man, 
with  a  hard,  cunning,  sensual  eye,  and  coarse  mouth  en- 
tered.   It  proved  to  be  our  old  acquaintance,  Colley  Gibber. 

"  I  protest  to  Heaven !"  says  the  dramatist,  "you  fright- 
ened me.  I  thought  you  were  a  bailiff;  and  if  I  did  not 
know  you,  I  shoiild  have  taken  you  for  one  when  you 
entered." 

"  Mr.  Fielding,"  says  Gibber,  "  I  am  obliged  to  you  for 
the  compliment ;  but  I  want  to  know  whether  that  foolish 
farce  is  finished  which  we  have  been  so  long  expecting  ?  I 
think  it  is  now  some  ten  months  since  it  was  paid  for." 

"  Oh,  you  old  rogue,"  replied  Fielding,  "  sit  down ;  have 
a  glass,  and  let  me  tell  you  what  Kitty  Glive  said  about 
you  t'other  day."  And  he  immediately,  with  infinite  live- 
liness, invented  a  scene,  in  which  Mrs.  Glive  had  professed 
the  greatest  admiration  for  Gibber,  whom  she  described  as 
a  perfect  husband,  father,  wit,  fine  gentleman,  actor,  and  I 
don't  know  what  else  besides.  The  old  fool  swallowed  it 
all  down  like  honey,  and  forgot  to  pester  Fielding  about 
the  farce — or,  what  was  really  as  bad,  to  remind  him  that 
it  had  been  paid  for.  He  drank  a  glass  or  two,  and  then, 
for  the  first  time,  began  to  recognize  me. 

"  My  good  Mr.  Smith,"  he  said,  "  I  did  not  remember 
you.  Pray  excuse  me,  and  let  me  know  how  you  are  get- 
ting on." 

Fielding  stared  at  him  with  great  amazement.  Gibber, 
however,  did  not  notice  it,  and  I  gave  the  dramatist  a  look. 
He  smiled  archly. 

"  Golley,"  he  said,  "  what  in  Lucifer's  name  do  you  mean 
by  calling  my  cousin  Montagu  by  that  rascally  misnomer  ? 
Smith — Smith — allow  me,  sir,  to  present  you  to  him,  and 
then  make  one  of  your  best  stage  bows.  Mr.  Golley  Gib- 
ber, patentee  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  I  present 
you  to  Mr.  Wortley  Montagu,  Junior,  onl}'  son  and  heir  of 
the  Right  Honorable  Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  Lord  of 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     867 

the  Treasury,  &c.,  &c.,  and  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  daughter 
of  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Kingston.  Cousin  Montagu 
know  Mr.  Colley  Gibber,  who  is  one  of  the  most  refined 
rakes,  rogues,  and  wits  in  Great  Britain." 

I  was  covered  with  confusion.  Old  Gibber  almost  hum- 
bled himself  in  the  dust  before  me.  Never  was  seen  a  more 
wonderful  change  from  patronizing  politeness  into  crawling 
subserviency.  Gibber  had  always  behaved  to  me  as  a  re- 
spectable elder,  with  a  position  well  established,  to  a  poor 
devil  of  a  junior,  with  no  position  at  all,  or  probably  with 
even  no  prospect  of  one.  But  here  was  a  magic  change, 
indeed.  The  only  son  and  heir  of  the  richest  man  in  London 
was  before  him,  and  he  at  once  grovelled  in  the  dust  at  my 
feet.  Fielding  saw  and  enjoyed  the  rapid  metamorphosis 
— but  I  was  wholly  confounded.  The  old  rogue  saw  it, 
and  hastened  to  relieve  me. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  see  an  intrigue — sly — sly — damnably 
sly.  In  the  city,  too!  as  Mr.  Smith — capital!  capital! 
quite  a  dramatic  incident,  full  of  novelty  and  fire,  damme — 
but  who  would  have  thought  it  ?  Mr.  Wortley  Montagu, 
I  am  proud  and  honored  in  renewing — or  rather  I  should 
say  in  making  so  distinguished  an  acquaintance.  May  I 
present  you  with  a  pinch  of  snuff?" 

We  talked  on  various  matters.  Gibber  was  great  on  his 
friend  Lord  Ghesterfield,  and  other  noble  lords  whose  toady 
he  was.  Rumor  said  he  supplied  them  with  actresses ;  but 
all  managers  of  theatres  do  this  for  their  patrons — so  that 
there  was  nothing  wonderful  in  that.  I  have  known  one 
of  the  most  charming,  modest,  talented  young  creatures  in 
the  world,  who  sought  employment  at  a  royal  theatre ;  her 
recommendations  from  country  managers,  under  whom  she 
had  eminently  distinguished  herself,  were  first-rate.  The 
director  looked  at  them  scornfully,  but  at  herself  imperti- 
nently. "  Well,"  he  said,  "  all  this  is  very  fine ;  but  if  I 
engage  you,  you  must  get  somebody  to  take  a  private  box 


868     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

— ^we  have  some  remaining  at  a  hundred  guineas."  The 
young  creature  was  silent.  It  was  her  first  visit  to  London, 
and  she  did  not  understand  him. 

"  Private  box — hundred  guineas,"  she  murmured.  "  My 
dear  sir,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  have  come  to 
ask  employment,  and  you  tell  me  I  must  take  a  private 
box." 

The  manager  looked  at  her  with  curiosity.  Such  vestal 
ignorance  was  rather  new.  At  first  he  did  not  believe  it 
possible  that  any  one  should  be  so  benighted  in  these  pol- 
ished times;  but  a  searching  glance  into  her  clear  eye 
showed  that  she  really  was  so. 

"Madam,"  he  answered,  "we  have  applications  every 
day  from  scores  of  young  women,  all  as  clever,  pretty,  and 
well  recommended  as  yourself.  We  are  in  no  want  of 
talent — the  town  is  pleased  with  what  it  gets.  But  you 
want  to  make  a  name  in  London — ^to  win  a  reputation. 
Well,  you  must  pay  for  it.  It  is  worth  your  while  to  make 
some  sacrifice  to  get  on  the  boards.  Get  some  nobleman 
or  gentleman  to  take  a  private  box,  and  if  he  does  so,  we 
will  then  take  you  on.  If  you  can't  do  this,  you  can't  act 
here." 

Even  still  she  did  not  understand  him.  She  replied: 
"  But,  sir,  I  don't  know  any  one  in  the  world  who  would  do 
such  a  thing  for  me;  I  have  none  to  depend  upon  but 
myself." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  manager,  "good  morning;  but 
you  needn't  come  here  again." 

And  this  system,  to  my  absolute  knowledge,  now  pre- 
vails almost  universally  at  all  the  great  theatres — and  I 
suppose  it  will  extend  to  the  minor  ones  in  time.  So  re- 
fined a  people  have  we  become!  The  honorable  writers 
and  critics  connected  with  these  haunts  of  infamy  take 
good  care  not  to  let  the  gentle  pubUc  into  the  secret ;  and 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     869 

I  believe  I  am  the  first  who  ever  did  so.  I  have  no  doubt 
I  shall  receive  my  reward — abuse. 

In  all  these  matters,  CoUey  was  of  course  a  proficient. 
Oh,  how  the  old  rogue  crowed,  laughed,  rejoiced,  revelled 
in  his  scoundrelism.  If  you  could  believe  himself,  he  was 
the  most  desperate  villain  alive.  No  age  or  rank,  or  sex, 
or  condition  was  sacred  from  his  profanation.  Every  man 
was  a  scoundrel ;  every  woman  a  wanton.  Thus  he  ran 
on.  He  furnished  examples  as  he  went  along,  that  his 
views  were  not  merely  theoretical — but  founded  on  solid 
facts.  Did  he  weep,  lament,  or  sigh  over  this  ?  Not  he. 
He  gloried  in  it ;  he  triumphed  in  the  universal  baseness. 
He  enumerated  his  own  debaucheries,  gaming,  subservi- 
ency, and  filth,  until  it  made  me  sick.  Here  was  an  old 
man,  upwards  of  seventy,  who  seemed  a  walking  demon, 
and  was  proud  to  be  considered  so. 

Fielding  at  length  came  to  the  point  at  which  he  had 
evidently  been  running  for  half-an-hour.  With  fine  irony 
he  began  as  follows : 

"  After  all,  CoUey,  from  what  I  have  known  of  you,  you 
are  a  good  man,  a  feeling  man,  a  kind  man,  with  all  your 
eccentricities.  Just  hear  me,  and  when  I  have  done,  say 
whether  you  have  not  an  opportunity  of  performing  one  of 
the  noblest  acts  that  ever  man  did  ?" 

Gibber's  eyes  sparkled.  He  was  evidently  glad  of  this 
encomium  on  his  merits,  thus  made  in  my  presence. 

"  Mr.  Fielding,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  what 
you  mean." 

"  It  is  not  for  myself  I  speak,"  resumed  my  cousin.  "  I 
know  if  I  were  in  the  lowest  pit  of  Tartarus,  or  even  worse, 
in  the  Fleet  Prison,  you  would  not  get  me  out  if  ten  pounds 
paid  down  would  do  it.  Nor  do  I  complain  of  that.  Nay, 
don't  look  so  surprised,  but  help  yourself  to  another  glass 
— I  shouldn't  ask  the  money,  and  you  wouldn't  give  it,  so 
24 


870     EDWARD  WOBTLBT  MOHTA&U. 

no  harm  would  be  done;  but  I  now  speak  to  you  for 
another." 

Fielding  narrated  a  most  piteous  tale  that  would  have 
drawn  tears  from  the  hardest  congregation,  and  melted 
even  a  company  of  professed  Christians.  I  only  recollect 
the  outlines.  A  young  girl  in  the  country,  the  daughter 
of  a  painter,  beautiful  and  innocent,  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  gentleman  whom  she  devotedly  loved ;  the  day  fixed 
for  the  wedding ;  the  father  thrown  into  prison  by  an  un- 
relenting creditor,  who  took  advantage  of  the  approaching 
union ;  poor  old  man  seized  with  paralysis :  another  week's 
confinement  will  destroy  him ;  the  debt  is  only  fifty  pounds ; 
the  daughter  takes  the  whole  liability  on  herself;  the  father 
is  released ;  the  lover  is  disgusted  at  finding  they  are  so 
poor,  and  basely  repudiates  the  match ;  the  young  girl  is 
now  arrested  by  the  scoundrel  who  imprisoned  her  father; 
she  is  lodged  in  prison  for  debt ;  the  old  man  dies  when 
he  hears  the  sad  news ;  will  no  one  release  her  ?  Will  no 
one  fly  to  the  rescue  of  this  perishing  virgin  ?  Yes,  there 
is  one  generous  man  who  will  do  it — ^to  whose  heart  charity 
never  appealed  twice,  whose  bosom  is  the  shrine  of  pity. 
That  man  is  Colley  Gibber. 

My  cousin  stopped.  The  tears  were  in  his  own  eyes,  so 
moving  was  the  pathos  of  his  narrative.  But  he  spoke  to 
a  rock. 

"  Mr.  Fielding,"  says  Gibber,  "  I  should  be  glad  to  assist 
this  lady,  indeed  my  heart  feels  for  her" — the  old  rogue 
wiped  his  eyes,  into  which  he  called  some  theatrical  tears — 
"  but  money,  sir,  money  is  very  tight  just  now,  and  I  really 
cannot  do  it — I  really  cannot.     In  a  week  or  so — " 

"  Zounds,  man,  in  a  week  she  will  be  dead.  She  cannot 
survive  her  father's  loss." 

"  Well,  then,  if  it  is  only  a  week  surely  that  will  make 
little  difference.    It  is  a  great  pity  she  was  so  imprudent. 


EDWARD  WOETLBY  MONTAGU.     871 

I  feel  for  her — I  feel  as  if  she  were  a  daughter  of  my  own— 
the  dear  child ;  but  money  is  tight." 

Fielding  looked  at  him  and  changed  the  conversation. 
He  rattled  on  love,  gallantry,  the  stage,  the  green  room. 
Lord  Chesterfield  became  the  subject  of  his  discourse,  and 
he  kept  us  in  a  perpetual  laugh.  Suddenly  he  kept  his 
eye  upon  Gibber,  and  said — 

"Apropos,  Colley,  what  do  you  think  brings  young 
Montagu  here  to-day?  His  old  screw  of  a  father  won't 
lend  him  fifty  pounds,  so  he  came  to  me  to  borrow  it.  Was 
not  that  an  excellent  notion  ?" 

"  Impossible,"  answered  Colley,  "  I  know  hundreds  who 
would  lend  him  thousands." 

"To  be  sure  they  would,"  says  my  cousin,  "but  he  is  a 
prudent  youth,  and  don't  intend  to  run  into  their  nets. 
Besides,  this  is  a  little  private  aflair  of  gallantry,  and  he 
wishes  to  be  sly — quite  sly.  You  understand,  Colley,  don't 
you,  you  elderly  sinner  ?" 

I  protested  with  my  eyes  against  all  this ;  but  Fielding 
wouldn't  see  it,  so  he  went  on  in  his  mad  way.  Gibber 
licked  his  lips. 

"  Such  a  pretty  little  rogue ;  only  fifteen,  fresh  from  rural 
scenes,  budding  into  perfect  loveliness.  Her  mother  has 
some  scruples ;  she  won't  let  him  have  her  unless  he  pays 
fifty  pounds  down  to  the  wretch,  and  faith  he  hasn't  it. 
So  he  came  to  me.  Absurd,  Colley,  wasn't  it  ?  I  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  be  moral — but  youth,  youth — ^you  know. 
He  is  quite  in  despair  about  her." 

"  Ah  1  yes,  youth,  youth,  and  only  fifteen  did  you  say  ? 
Upon  my  soul  they  would  be  nicely  matched.  But  that 
old  haridan  of  a  mother ;  was  there  ever  any  thing  bo  un- 
reasonable, so  wicked  ?  I  did  not  think  there  were  such 
wretches  In  the  world.  Not  sell  her  daughter  to  so  pretty 
a  young  gentleman  for  less  than  fifty  pounds?  Won't 
even  take  his  word  for  It?     Ohl  horrid;   the  age  grows 


372  EDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAGXT. 

quite  blasphemous.  Mr.  Montagu,"  he  added,  turning  to 
me,  "  I  shall  be  forever  your  debtor  if  you  will  honor  me 
by  the  acceptance  of  this  trifle.  It  would  be  cruel  to  dis- 
appoint so  fine  a  young  gentleman.  There  is  the  money; 
repay  it  at  your  leisure.  No,  no,  not  a  word.  I  won't 
take  a  refusal."  And  he  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and 
wrote  me  an  order  on  his  goldsmith  for  fifty  pounds,  which 
he  thrust  into  my  hand,  and  before  I  could  prevent  him, 
left  the  room. 

My  first  movement  was  to  knock  him  down  and  kick 
Fielding  himself;  but  the  latter  winked  at  me,  and  I  de- 
termined to  wait  a  while  and  see  whither  all  this  tended. 
When  the  door  was  closed  on  CoUey,  Fielding  flung  him- 
self back  on  his  sofa  and  laughed  for  an  entire  quarter  of 
an  hour.  He  was  quite  beside  himself.  I  could  not  make 
him  hear  or  answer  a  word.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I  put 
the  order  into  the  fire.  My  cousin  saw  it,  but  too  late  to 
save  it.  This  at  once  changed  his  laughter  into  profound 
gravity. 

"Zounds!  Wortley,"  he  said,  "what  have  you  done? 
You  have  thrown  away  fifty  pounds." 

I  explained  to  him  that  I  did  not  approve  of  the  jest; 
he  saw  that  I  was  really  angry,  and  he  offered  me  a  hun- 
dred apologies. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  cousin,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  showing  up  the  old  vagabond  in  his  true 
colors.  I  think  I  did  so,  and  you  must  forgive  me  if  I 
made  you  the  stalking-horse.  The  thing  is  done — I  wish 
you  had  kept  the  money.  I  beg  your  pardon."  And  he 
held  out  his  hand.  I  could  not  refuse  it,  and  we  were 
friends  again. 

'•  Now,"  said  he,  "  in  the  name  of  Lazarillo  de  Tormes, 
Gil  Bias,  and  Sir  Robert  Walpole — as  good  a  beggar  as 
any  of  them — how  shall  we  raise  money  for  the  Opera 
House  to-night  ?     I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  and  you 


EDWARD  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      873 

shall  accompany  me.  As  Falstaflf  says,  '  But  what  money 
hast  thou  in  thy  purse  V  " 

I  produced  it ;  it  was  only  two  guineas. 

"  Bah,"  said  he,  "  that  will  never  do.  Stay  here  a  mo« 
ment,"  and  he  ran  into  another  room,  from  which  he  im- 
mediately returned  with  a  periwig,  a  blue  velvet  suit  edged 
with  gold,  not  quite  new,  a  silver-hilted  sword,  a  pair  and 
a  half  of  silk  stockings,  two  shirts,  finely  laced,  a  cocked 
hat,  a  ring  belonging  to  his  grandmother,  a  family  Bible,  a 
pair  of  red-heeled  shoes,  and  a  lady's  satin  petticoat. 

These  he  arranged  with  some  neatness  and  tied  into  a 
bundle.     I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing. 

"  Oh  1"  he  said,  "  only  going  to  a  kind  friend,  who  obliges 
me  with  money  sometimes,  but  as  I  don't  like  to  be  outdone 
in  generosity,  I  usually  deposit  some  little  superfluous  arti- 
cles like  these  with  him,  and  he  generally  gives  me  his  note 
of  hand." 

"  Do  you  mean  a  pawnbroker  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  that  is  what  the  vulgar  call  him.  How 
on  earth  were  you  clever  enough  to  make  the  guess  ?" 

The  parcel  was  now  tied  up. 

"  Remain  here,  Wortley,"  said  he,  "  for  a  few  minutes." 
Galloping  gayly  down  stairs,  he  called  a  coach,  into  which 
he  popped  with  his  bundle,  singing  and  whistling  like  a 
big  Bchool-boy. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  returned  capering  with 
joy. 

"  Hurrah !  hurrah  1"  he  said,  "  Evoe  I  lo  Bacchus !  never 
was  any  thing  so  fortunate.  I  am  the  luckiest  fellow  on 
earth.  I  am  richer  than  Croesus,  or  your  father.  I  am  the 
happiest  fellow  in  the  world,"  and  he  ran  up,  and  putting 
his  arms  about  me,  he  kissed  me  in  the  excess  of  his  mad- 
ness. Opening  his  hand,  he  produced  ten  guineas,  the 
gleam  of  which  set  him  capering  again. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  did  I  not  tell  you  I  was  Dives  him* 
24 


374     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

self?  Now  come  and  let  us  prepare  for  the  Opera  House. 
No  time  is  to  be  lost.  We  shall  go  in  dominoes.  All 
the  fine  people  in  the  world  will  be  there." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

I  WAS  scarcely  in  any  humor  to  go  a-masquerading,  but 
Fielding's  genial  manner  was  difficult  to  resist,  and  he  half 
thrust  me  into  a  mask  and  domino,  amusing  his  fancy  all 
the  while  with  images  of  the  adventures  we  should  have. 
We  called  a  coach  and  got  to  the  Opera  House  about  ten. 
The  rooms  were  already  full,  and  we  resolved  to  take  a 
survey  of  them  at  first  before  we  engaged  in  any  more  par- 
ticular pursuit.  There  were  Soldiers,  Monks,  Demons, 
Jews,  Priests,  Cardinals,  Harlequins,  Clowns,  Shepherd- 
esses, Kings,  Turks,  Pantaloons,  Bandits,  Negroes,  Fox- 
hunters,  Princesses,  Nuns,  Fairies,  Frenchmen,  Corsairs, 
and  Maids  of  Honor — a  motley  assemblage,  symbolical  in 
its  variety  of  the  real  world  about  us.  Twenty  masks,  one 
after  another,  ran  up  to  us,  and  saying,  "Do  you  know 
me  ?"  were  rather  disgusted  with  our  ignorance  of  one  and 
all ;  for  we  spoke  in  feigned  voices,  not  intending  to  reveal 
ourselves  until  we  had  performed  the  entire  circuit  of  the 
place.  This  was  at  length  achieved,  and  we  sat  down  at  a 
table  for  some  refreshment. 

"  Your  present  condition,"  said  Fielding,  who  was  half- 
sentimentally  tipsy,  "reminds  me  somewhat  of  Cornifix, 
Count  of  Ulfeld,  Great  Master  of  Denmark.  For  this 
noble  person  was  like  you,  the  son  of  a  great  nobleman — 
indeed  his  father  was  Lord  Chancellor  of  Denmark,  and 
like  you  his  spirit  was  so  lively  that  at  the  age  of  ten,  the 


BDWABD  WOBTLET  MONTAaU.      875 

old  gentleman  being  wholly  unable  to  control  him,  or  re- 
duce him  within  any  reasonable  bounds,  was  obliged  to 
send  him  to  Paris  under  the  care  of  a  governor,  with  strict 
orders  to  curb  the  growth  of  a  most  licentious  temper. 
Although  he  labored  in  this  honorable  employment  for  five 
years,  he  was  unable  to  check  the  young  Count,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  period  he  wrote  to  his  father,  resigning  the 
task  in  despair.  The  old  man,  enraged  at  such  perversity 
in  his  son,  discarded  him  forever,  and  Count  Ulfeld,  thrown 
on  his  own  resources  before  he  was  sixteen,  was  little  better 
than  a  wandering  outcast,  though  whether  he  went  in  mas- 
querade among  the  gypsies  hath  not  been  recorded  by  the 
historian.  In  his  last  extremity  he  travelled  into  Germany, 
and  made  his  case  known  to  Count  Oldenburgh,  who  was 
a  distant  relation.  The  Count  was  pleased  with  his  wit 
and  figure,  and  entertained  him  for  three  years,  at  the  end 
of  which  period  half  the  husbands  were  jealous  of  the  young 
Dane,  and  all  the  women,  particularly  the  wedded  ones, 
were  pulling  caps  for  his  favors.  When  the  war  broke  out 
between  King  Christian  and  some  of  the  Germanic  princes, 
Count  Ulfeld,  being  tired  of  Venus  and  longing  after  Mars, 
solicited  letters  from  his  kinsman  to  General  Fowlk,  one 
of  the  greatest  captains  of  the  age,  under  whom  he  cam- 
paigned for  five  years,  until  he  became  as  thorough  a  sol- 
dier as  he  had  before  been  a  courtier.  On  the  restoration 
of  peace  he  went  into  Italy,  and  became  acquainted  with 
Signer  Cremonini,  a  noble  Venetian,  who  made  him  an  ac- 
co  iiplished  diplomatist,  and  "by  his  influence  he  was  sent 
into  Denmark  in  the  train  of  an  ambassador  from  the 
Republic.  At  Copenhagen  he  was  present  at  all  the  con- 
ferences which  the  Chancellor,  his  father,  had  with  the 
Ambassador,  and  the  former  began  to  feel  a  wonderful 
liking  for  the  young  stranger,  whose  ready  wit  and  general 
knowledge  were  of  great  advantage  to  the  Ambassador's 
councils.     He  took  occasion  to  solicit  a  private  interview 


876  EDWARD     -WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

with  him,  and  after  offering  him  all  the  services  in  his 
power,  and  entreating  earnestly  that  he  would  enter  into 
the  service  of  Denmark,  he  begged  to  know  of  what  family 
he  was.  The  young  man  at  first  refused  to  satisfy  him  on 
that  point,  but  being  pressed  much  he  at  length  said,  '  My 
lord,  I  am  that  unfortunate  son  of  your  own,  whom  you 
discarded  for  his  youthful  follies  on  his  governor's  report. 
May  I  hope  that  I  have  sufficiently  atoned  for  them  V  The 
Chancellor  was  delighted  with  the  discovery,  and  made 
the  King  acquainted  with  the  whole  story,  so  that  in  a  little 
time  Count  Ulfeld  became  the  idol  of  both  court  and  kingr 
dom.  May  I  venture  to  hope  a  similar  termination  to  all 
your  escapades  ?" 

"  You  certainly  may  venture  to  hope  it ;  but  my  mother's 
hatred  of  me  is  so  intense,  and  my  lather's  folly  about  his 
money  is  so  perfect,  that  I  think  the  notion  that  I  possibly 
some  day  may  enjoy  his  wealth,  is  alone  sufficient  to  make 
him  loathe  me,  and  I  do  not  anticipate  so  favorable  an 
ending  of  my  drama  as  that  which  happened  to  Count 
Ulfeld.  In  the  Montagu  as  in  the  Guelph  family,  the  eldest 
son  is  always  hated  by  his  family." 

"  Well,  let  us  change  the  subject,"  he  said ;  "and  apropos 
of  nothing  we  shall  have  the  Guelph  s  here  to-night,  father 
and  son,  both  followed  by  some  of  the  basest  gold-embroi- 
dered knaves  on  earth,  fawning  and  smiling  on  the  '  foun- 
tain of  honor,'  and  ready  to  sell  their  souls  for  a  smile  or  a 
promise.  Who  that  looks  upon  such  a  scene  can  entertain 
any  feeling  but  that  of  scorn  for  the  rogues  in  purple  who 
call  themselves  'most  noble,'  'right  honorable,'  and  'full 
of  grace.'  Such  titles  seem  conferred  in  irony;  they  are 
certainly  the  bitterest  sarcasms  on  their  possessors ;  yet 
these  fellows  carry  them  about  as  gravely  as  if  they  ex- 
pressed their  true  inward  nature.  They  always  remind  me 
of  that  right  honorable  jackdaw  that  dressed  himself  in 
peacock's  feathers." 


EDWARD    WORTLBY    MONTAOIT.  877 

"  There  is  an  old  saying,  Harry,  that '  fools  are  the  favor- 
ites of  fortune  j'  I  think  it  should  rather  be  that  knaves 
are." 

"  Fools  and  knaves,  dear  Wortley,  are  convertible  terms. 
I  never  yet  knew  a  fool  who  was  not  a  knave  also,  only 
that  he  had  not  the  capacity  to  carry  it  out ;  I  never  yet 
knew  a  knave  who  was  not  on  the  whole  an  arrant  fool. 
Here  comes  one  who  is  a  beautiful  compound  of  both." 

And  Lord  Hillsborough,  the  wildest  and  most  scanda- 
lous libertine  of  that  day  of  libertines,  passed.  He  was 
engaged  with  a  couple  of  pure  shepherdesses,  one  of  whom 
had  a  pastoral  crook  and  another  a  sylvan  pipe;  Hills- 
borough himself  being  attired  as  Paris  on  the  Dardan 
Hills,  but  looking  like  a  bacchanal  of  Drury  Lane.  He 
had  pulled  his  mask  off,  and  was  half  drunk  already.  A 
rabble  followed  him,  listening  to  brutal  wit  and  ribaldry, 
only  coarser  than  that  of  Swift  or  Rabelais,  of  whom  he 
seemed  compounded. 

"  I  wonder  is  his  wife  here  ?"  said  Fielding.  "  I  hope 
she  is." 

An  elegantly  dressed  fop  now  approached  us.  Bowing 
to  Fielding,  he  said,  in  a  lisping  voice,  half  song,  half 
recitative — 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?     Fal,  lal,  lal,  la." 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  Harry,  "  you  are  Jack  Frothwell." 

"  The  same  at  your  service,  Mr.  Fielding.  Damme,  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  here.  I  am  looking  for  the  divine 
Phillis !  Fal,  lal,  lal,  la.  What  do  you  think  of  my  dress  ? 
This  pink  satin  is  the  heavenliest  thing.  This  ring  I  got 
from  the  Countess  of ." 

"  I  think  the  Countess  Fal-lal  has  shown  exquisite  taste 
in  her  selection  of  a  lover,"  answered  Fielding;  "you  are 
both  well  matched." 

"  'Pon  my  word,  you  say  truly,"  answered  Jack,  "  and 
I'll  repeat  your  compliment  to  her,  the  moment  I  see  her 


378     BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

ladyship.     Have  you  seen  many  here  to-night  that  you 
know  ?" 

"Oh!  hundreds — England  realizes  the  proud  boast  of 
one  of  the  knights  of  old,  all  whose  sons  were  brave,  all 
whose  daughters  were  chaste.  The  superlative  degree  of 
both  are  congregated  hei*e  to-night." 

"Divine  England!  divine  pleasure;  the  first,  the  only 
land  for  the  second — ^the  second  enjoyed  nowhere  but  in 
the  first.  Don't  you  think  that  a  good  observation,  Mr. 
Fielding  ?" 

"  Which  ?     England  or  pleasure  ?" 

"  Nay,  if  you  grow  satirical,  I  must  be  off.  Faith,  I  see 
her  ladyship  yonder.  O,  Divine !  Adieu — adieu.  I  kiss 
your  hands."  And  the  beau  went  off,  like  a  squib  of  gun- 
powder, muttering  his  favorite  "  Fal,  lal,  lal,  la,"  softly 
echoed  in  the  air. 

"  That  man  has  ten  thousand  a-year,"  sighed  Harry, 
"  and  you  see  how  he  spends  it." 

While  we  were  thus  engaged,  my  old  friend  Lord  Ches- 
terfield, attired  as  a  Spanish  grandee,  passed  near;  he 
wore  no  mask,  and  he  was  followed  by  a  well-dressed 
crowd  of  giddy  youths,  who  seemed  to  think  him  divinity ; 
and  I  could  see  many  a  stray  glance  from  bright  eyes 
wafted  towards  the  strutting  little  Don.  Fielding  looked 
at  me  for  a  moment ;  his  eyes  twinkled  with  fun. 

"Behold,"  he  whispered,  "the  glass  of  fashion,  and  the 
mould  of  form — Philip  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chesterfield.  He 
is  reputed  to  be  the  finest  courtier  we  have;  look  at  him 
and  acknowledge  that  the  eulogy  is  merited.  He  mocks 
every  man,  and  boasts  that  he  intrigues  with  every  woman, 
though  his  recent  affair  with  the  Duchess  of  Manchester 
has  not  tended  much  to  his  glory  as  a  lady-killer." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Why,  just  this.  Her  grace  has  been  married  about 
nine  years,  and  havfng  no  issue,  our  peer  thought  it  a  pity 


BDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      379 

that  the  honors  of  this  noble  house  should  be  transferred 
from  the  direct  line  to  a  brother.  He  accordingly  waited 
on  her  grace  a  few  mornings  since,  though  he  knew  but 
little  of  her,  having  only  seen  her  once  or  twice  at  court. 
After  a  few  conipliments,  which  no  man  can  pay  with  pret- 
tier grace,  he  delicately  alluded  to  the  absence  of  an  heir 
to  this  most  honorable  title ;  informed  her  that  he  should 
be  most  happy  to  form  such  an  acquaintance  with  her  as 
would  probably  produce  so  desirable  a  consummation.  The 
Duchess,  who  is  a  namesake  of  yours,  was  silent  for  some 
time ;  in  fact  her  indignation  stopped  her  power  of  speech, 
which  gave  my  lord  so  much  encouragement,  that  he  was 
proceeding  to  kiss  her  hand,  when  the  lady,  rising,  thus 
saluted  this  well-bred  worshipper  of  the  graces.  '  Begone, 
sir,  from  my  presence,  nor  ever  again  dare  to  enter  it — and 
think  yourself  well  off  that  for  this  affront  I  do  not  order 
my  servants  to  thrust  you  headlong  out  of  doors.'  My 
lord  smiled,  bowed,  and  I  suppose  has  come  here  unmasked, 
to  exhibit  to  the  world  his  grand  indifference  to  such  trifling 
accidents,  which  are  unable  to  disturb  his  composure  even 
for  a  moment."*    . 

"  I  suppose  my  lady  namesake  was  not  so  much  dis- 
pleased at  the  measure  as  with  the  man.  Had  the  propo- 
sition come  from  another,  who  was  an  Antinous,  it  would 
have  probably  been  better  received.  But  this  fellow  seems 
an  antidote  to  all  love.  His  short  figure,  thick  make,  large 
rough-featured  ugly  face,  black  teeth,  and  head  as  big  as 
Polyphemus,  are  more  calculated  to  frighten  the  women 
than  to  captivate  them.  Only  that  he  is  a  great  deal 
uglier  and  more  vulgar-looking,  he  would  have  reminded 
me  of  little  Will,  the  waiter  at  the  ♦  Turk's  Head.' " 

"Aye,  and  he  is  always  prating  of  '  the  graces.' " 


•  This  itory  Is  repeated  also  in  the  "  Life  of  Johnson,"  by  Sir  John  Hawkins. 
Page  180. 


380  EDWARD    WORTLBY     MONTAGtI. 

"Yet  you  dedicated  to  him  your  'Don  Quixote  in 
England.' " 

"  Yes,  I  did,  and  got  twenty  guineas  for  it.  "What  could 
I  do,  Wortley  ?  The  old  general  was  sending  to  me  every 
daj'  for  a  loan,  and  I  could  refuse  him  no  longer.  It  is 
not  every  son  would  do  so  much  for  a  father — as  dedicate 
to  Chesterfield." 

The  music  now  struck  up,  and  we  walked  about  the 
rooms.  Fielding's  fine  figure  and  proportions  attracted 
the  fair  sex  in  crowds.  The  pretty  moths  gathered  around 
him  as  if  he  were  a  flaming  candle.  He  reminded  me  of 
the  Grand  Seigneur.  I,  though  nearly  as  tall,  could  of 
course  present  no  counterpart  to  his  vast  attractions.  A 
good  deal  of  his  own  experience  in  these  matters  subse- 
quently appeared  in  "Tom  Jones"  and  "Amelia" — those 
glorious  novels. 

A  tall,  thin  figure,  with  a  most  affected  manner,  passed 
us.  He  was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  splendor — but  it 
was  an  effeminate  splendor.  It  was  the  luxury  of  a  man- 
nikin  aping  a  fine  gentleman.  His  gait  was  slow  and 
pompous ;  but  its  pomposity  made  it  laughable.  I  felt  an 
icy  chill  as  he  came  near.  I  have  always  thought  there 
was  a  vast  depth  of  sagacity  in  that  observation  which 
Shakspeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  one  of  his  witches — 

"  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes." 

I  am  never  even  unconsciously  in  the  presence  of  a  foe,  or 
a  thoroughly  bad  person,  that  I  do  not,  as  if  by  instinct, 
feel  uneasy.  The  same  sense  of  oppression,  annoyance, 
and  dislike  now  came  over  me. 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  I  whispered  to  my  companion. 

"  What,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  know  him  ? — 

'Narcissus  praised  with  all  a  parson's  power, 
Looked  a  white  lily  sunk  beneath  a  shower.' 

So  Pope  sang  of  Lord  Hervey,  after  he  had  read  Middle- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     381 

ton's  dedication  of  Cicero  to  him."    And  then  he  con- 
tinued, half  audibly,  half  in  an  undertone — 

"Let  Sporns  tremble— What?  that  thing  of  silk, 
SporuB,  that  mere  white  curd  of  asses'  milkT 
Satire  or  sense  alas !  can  Sporns  feel? 
Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  the  wheel? 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray 
As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  the  way; 
Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 
And  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  pnppet  squeaks, 
Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,*  familiar  toad, 
Half  froth,  half  venom,  spits  himself  abroad. 
Amphibious  thing  that  acting  either  part, 
The  trifling  head  or  the  corrupted  heart. 
Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatterer  at  the  board. 
Now  trips  a  lady,  and  now  struts  a  lord ; 
Eve's  tempter*  thus  the  Rabbins  have  expressed, 
A  cherub's  face,  a  reptile  all  the  rest." 

Fielding  repeated  these  terrible  verses  with  so  little  heed 
as  to  who  heard  him,  that  I  am  satisfied  "  Sporus  "  him- 
self had  the  benefit  of  it  all.  He  darted  a  look  at  us  that 
even  under  his  mask  betrayed  rage.  "  Good  Heaven  I"  I 
thought,  "can  this  be  Lady  Mary's  favorite  Adonis?" 
Fielding  divined  my  thoughts,  but  he  was  too  well  bred  to 
allude  to  one  of  the  current  scandals  of  the  day. 

"  This  man,"  he  said,  "  is  another  example  of  what  we 
have  been  saying.  When  he  married  Molly  Lepell,  whom 
the  wags  now  begin  to  call  '  Old  Brimstone,'  though  it  is 
surely  too  soon,  he  sent  her  every  night  to  Court,  to  in- 
duce old  George  the  First  to  take  her  into  keeping.  The 
Duchess  of  Kendal  got  alarmed,  and  gave  her  four  thou- 
sand pounds  to  stay  away.  Our  noble  friend  accepted  the 
money  with  great  ^devotion,  and  bought  a  town  house  and 
furniture  with  it,  and  our  noble  lady  became  a  rank  Jacob- 
ite. So  much  for  Courts.  What  do  you  think  of  the  wife  ? 
But  she  was  early  schooled  into  the  true  value  of  money. 
Her  father,  old  General  Lepell,  was  colonel  of  a  regiment 
of  horse,  and  Mary  Lepell  regularly  drew  her  pay  as  one 

*  It  was  thus  that  Pope  alluded  to  Lady  M.  W.  and  Lord  H. 


382     BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU. 

of  his  cornets ;  the  thing  lasted  up  to  the  time  when  she 
was  appointed  Maid  of  Honor — when  it  was  thought  too 
scandalous  to  continue  it,  and  it  was  transferred  to  another 
sister,  who  I  suppose  has  it  stUl.  My  lady  is  a  very  nice 
Latin  scholar,  and  is  not  without  wit.  What  do  you  think 
the  King  said  the  other  night  to  her  master  ?  '  My  Lord 
Hervey,  you  ought  not  to  write  verses ;  it  is  beneath  your 
rank.  Leave  such  work  to  little  Mr.  Pope.'  I  suppose 
this  explains  the  verses — 

'  And  justly  Caesar  scorns  the  poet's  lays, 
It  is  to  history  he  trusts  for  praise.' 

And  history  no  doubt  will  give  it.  But  hush !  here  comes 
Moll  Skerrett — Walpole's  lady  of  the  harem,  daughter  of 
the  parish  clerk  of  St.  Andrew's,  Holborn.  O,  MoU  Sker- 
rett !  Moll  Skerrett !  many  ups  and  downs  have  I  seen  in 
life,  but  none  more  worthy  of  renown  than  thine.  Mark 
my  words :  Walpole's  man  (the  King)  will  make  her 
Countess  also  some  day." 

The  crowd  saw  not  St.  Andrews,  and  heard  not  A-men 
in  my  lady,  but  perceived  only  the  quintessence  of  St. 
James's,  and  the  perfume  of  the  Treasuiy — a  whole  draw- 
ing-room full  of  the  finest  people  followed  her  worshipping. 
It  was  the  old  story  of  Vashti.  The  noble  herd  cared  not 
that  my  lady  was  Sir  Robert's  avowed  and  shameless  mis- 
tress, and  that  his  wife  was  living.  They  only  saw  the 
favorite  of  the  all-powerful  Prime  Minister.  In  her  train 
was  Lady  Mary,  alwaj'^s  one  of  her  chief  friends  and  backers. 
Lord  Hervey  immediately  joined  them.  My  mother  ap- 
peared in  her  fancy  costume — an  Eastern  robe  and  head- 
dress. It  became  her  well.  All  the  honorable  and  fash- 
ional  witlings  fluttered  about  her;  all  the  noblemen  and 
illustrious  women  dangled  after  Moll.  The  Duchess  of 
Kendal,  that  tall,  lean,  ill-favored  mawkin,  paid  court  to  her ; 
the  huge  Madam  Platen,  whose  two  fierce  black  eyes  shone 
like  moons  eclipsed,  or  burnt  holes  in  a  blanket,  over  two 


EDWABD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU.     383 

continents  of  painted  cheeks,  and  a  whole  ocean  of  neck, 
did  not  disdain  to  flattei*  the  Holborn  goddess.  The  three 
were,  indeed,  "  birds  of  a  feather,"  and  shed  splendid  light 
on  Court  morals.  That  night,  I  think,  decided  me  for- 
ever, and  gave  me  a  repugnance  to  society  which  I  have 
never  got  over.  I  am  glad  of  it.  Solitude  has  made  me  a 
better  man. 

"Can  this  be  Lord  Cavendish?"  whispered  Fielding. 
"  Yes,  it  is  he,  by  Jupiter,  and  still  full  of  his  grand  ex- 
ploit, riding  from  Hyde  Park  Corner  to  the  Lodge  at 
Windsor  in  an  hour  and  six  minutes — twenty-one  miles, 
for  five  thousand  pounds !  And  here  is  the  fool  who  lost 
the  money,  Sir  Robert  Fogg — himself  also  a  horse  fancier. 
No  wonder  it  has  been  said  that  England  is  the  hell  of 
horses,  since  they  are  spurred  to  death  in  this  style.  But 
where  is  Pulteney  who  pinked  Lord  Hervey  in  a  duel  some 
time  since,  and  would  certainly  have  sent  him  across  the 
Styx,  only  that  his  foot  slipped  just  as  he  was  making  the 
final  lunge.  And  where  is  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  who 
stands  godfather  to  every  one  that  asks  him,  and  can  give 
him  a  good  feed  ?  But  what  have  we  here  ?" 
And  a  Mask  mounting  on  a  chair,  cried  out — 
"  Oyez !  Oyez !  Oyez !  all  good  people,  come  and  listen 
to  a  right  merry  ballad,  written  by  the  Virgin  Mary,  the 
greatest  wit  and  brightest  nymph  that  ever  celebrated  the 
praise  of  Bath."  And  the  silly  crowd  began  to  gather  at 
his  cry. 

I  knew  the  voice ;  it  was  that  of  Dr.  Young.  But  the 
parson  did  not  care  where  he  went  or  what  he  did,  so  long 
as  it  served  his  purpose. 

When  a  sufficiently  large  mob  of  fashionable  people  had 
assembled  round  the  crier,  and  silence  had  been  at  length 
procured,  the  reverend  gentleman  read  the  following  ballad, 
amid  great  applause.  I  insert  the  thing  here — first,  because 
it  is  not  printed  in  my  lady's  published  works;  and,  sec- 


384'  EDWARD     WORTLET     MONTAGU. 

ondly,  because  it  so  vividly  reminds  me  of  the  whole  folly 
of  the  scene  that  night : 

To  all  you  ladies  now  at  Bath, 

And  eke  ye  beaus  to  you, 
With  aching  heart  and  watery  eyes 

I  bid  my  last  adieu. 

"  You  see,  gentlemen,  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  belong 
to  the  ancient  and  honorable  order  of  beaux ;  to  draw  bril- 
liants from  the  eyes  of  this  fair  and  noble  lady  must  in- 
deed be  a  rare  chance,  and  such  has  been  that  of  your 
Bath  brethren.  Let  us  hope  it  won't  be  her  last  adieu,  and 
that  she  will  again  return  to  illuminate  that  Bladudian 
town,  though  we  can  never  see  too  much  of  her  here." 
An  observation  which  elicited  general  approval  &om  the 
crowd. 

The  reverend  gentlemen  in  disguise  read  on — 

Farewell,  ye  nymphs,  who  waters  sip, 

Fresh  reeking  from  the  pumps, 
While  music  lends  her  friendly  aid 

To  cheer  you  from  the  dumps. 

"Aye,  faith,"  says  one;  "they  must  have  been  in  the 
dumps  when  Lady  Mary  was  there,  for  she  carried  off  all 
their  lovers." 

"  No,"  says  another ;  "  the  reason  they  were  in  the  dumps 
was  because  they  drank  water  instead  of  ratafia." 

Farewell,  ye  wits,  who  prating  stand. 

And  criticize  the  fair, 
Yourselves  the  joke  of  men  of  sense, 

Who  hate  a  coxcomb  air. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Young,  "this  observation  applies 
only  to  the  Bath  wits — for  so  I  hear  they  call  themselves. 
They  should  come  and  learn  of  us  here  in  London,  >who 
alone  have  true  wit  and  humor ;  not  of  Beau  Nash,  who  is  a 
very  dull  fellow,  indeed." 

"  There  you  lie,"  shouted  a  mask ;  "  and  if  I  had  you  in 


BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU.      385 

Bath  I  should  order  you  to  be  pumped,  though  you  are  a 
parson." 

"  You  lie  like  a  knave,"  says  Young,  trusting  to  his  dis- 
guise; "I'm  no  parson." 

"Ain't  you  Neddy  Young  ?"  asked  Nash. 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  the  other,  with  an  unblushing 
bronze  that  would  have  done  honor  to  the  Court. 

"  Then  I'm  sorry  to  think,"  retorted  Nash,  "  that  there 
are  two  of  you.  I  thought  the  devil  could  have  made  only 
one." 

"  Hear  him — hear  Harry  Nash,"  bawled  two  or  three ; 
"  demme,  he  wants  to  give  laws  here ;  but  we'll  toss  him  in 
a  blanket  if  he  tries." 

"  If  you  do,"  says  Nash,  "  it  will  be  the  best  thing  you 
ever  tossed ;  but  I  don't  think  you'll  try." 

"  Go  on,  parson,"  cried  Jack  Frothwell ;  and  Young  re- 
sumed— 

Farewell  to  Deards,  and  all  her  toys, 

Which  glitter  In  her  shop. 
Deluding  traps  to  girls  and  boys, 
The  warehouse  of  the  fop. 

liindsay's  and  Hayes's  both  farewell  I 

Wliere  in  the  spacious  hall, 
With  bounding  steps  and  sprightly  olr, 

I've  led  up  many  a  ball. 

"  Ah  I  you  lovely  woman,"  cried  one ;  "  would  to  Cupid 
I  had  been  there  to  see.  These  bounding  steps  and 
sprightly  airs  are  the  very  things  I  like  best  of  all  others 
in  the  world." 

And  here  he  sighed  in  a  most  ludicrous  manner. 

Where  Tnrbervllle  of  courteous  mien, 

Was  partner  in  the  dance, 
With  swimming  Hawes,  and  Brownlow  blyths,  , 

And  Britton,  pink  of  France. 

"  Three  cheers  for  *  swimming  Hawes,' "  cried  Jack ;  "  she 
is  now  Lady  Vane,  and  faith,  there's  no  fish  in  the  sea  I'd 
sooner  swim  with."     This  sally  produced  great  laughter. 
25 


386  BDWARD    WORTLET     MONTAGHI. 

Poor  Nash— farewell !  may  fortune'!  gmlle 
Thy  drooping  soul  revive, 

My  heart  is  full — I  can  no  more- 
John,  bid  the  coachman  drive. 

"  There  now,  Nash,  there's  comfort  for  you,"  said  Young, 
as  he  stopped  and  folded  up  the  paper.  "  By  the  Gods, 
such  a  wish  as  that  proceeding  from  so  fine  a  lady  must 
raise  you  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  Olympus,  if  there  were 
such  a  place  at  all,  which  I  don't  believe  there  is." 

"Aye !"  retorted  the  King  of  Bath,  "  but  such  cursed 
folly  as  you  have  been  speaking  sinks  me  back  again  into 
the  seventh  pit — where  I  should  gladly  leave  you  if  I  be- 
lieved there  were  such  a  region." 

And  the  crowd  separated  to  seek  some  other  foolery. 

"  You  hear  all  this,"  said  Fielding  to  me — "  but  her 
ladyship  exposes  herself  to  it.   When  will  she  learn  sense  ?" 

"  Let  us  change  the  subject,  Harry,"  I  said,  "  I  am  tired 
of  it."     My  cousin  was  silent.     After  a  pause  he  asked — 

«  What  do  you  think  of  the  King  of  Bath  ?" 

"Nothing,"  I  answered. 

"You  are  right,"  he  rejoined;  "he  is  nothing,  but  out 
of  his  nothingness  he  makes  a  princely  income.  He  it 
was  who  first  led  the  fashion  of  riding  naked  on  a  cow  for 
a  wager,  which  some  of  our  fine  gentlemen,  Lord  Gains- 
borough among  the  rest,  have  mimicked.  I  have  known 
him  in  London  watch  a  whole  day  at  a  window  in  the 
Sm3rrna  Coffee  House,  in  order  to  receive  a  bow  from  a 
Duke  or  a  Duchess,  as  they  passed  where  he  was  standing, 
and  he  would  then  look  round  upon  the  company  for  ad- 
miration and  respect." 

"  I  fear  the  world  is  full  of  such." 

"  Yet,"  pursued  Fielding, "  the  fellow  is  a  kind  of  humorist 
in  his  way.  He  once  gave  out  publicly  that  he  would 
drink  no  wine  but  what  was  strained  through  his  sweet- 
heart's smock,  and  I  have  seen  him  eat  a  pair  of  her  shoes 
tossed  up  in  a  fricassee.     Though  this  savors  of  the  ex- 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      887 

treme  of  madness,  there  were  fifty  young  fellows  who  imi- 
tated him  in  all  this.  Yet  I  admire  one  part  in  the  fellow, 
which  shows  him  not  to  be  entirely  lost.  He  is  noted  for 
never  mentioning  his  father.  Dr.  Cheyne  swears  he  never 
had  one.  The  Duchess  of  Marlborough  one  day  said  he 
was  like  Gil  Bias,  who  was  ashamed  of  his  father.  '  No, 
madam,'  he  replied ;  '  I  never  mention  my  father  in  this 
company,  not  because  I  have  any  reason  to  be  ashamed  of 
him,  but  because  he  has  some  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  me.' 
Then  he  bowed  to  all  around.  I  hardly  think  they  saw 
the  sarcasm.     But  whom  have  we  here  ? 

"He  is  the  best-dressed  man  in  town.  Lord  Portmore — 
with  his  new  wife,  the  Duchess  of  Leeds,  whom  he  has 
not  yet  got  tired  of" — and  Fielding  showed  me  a  fine- 
looking  figure  arrayed  in  gold  and  velvet  and  a  blaze  of 
jewels. 

"  He  certainly  does  look  well ;  does  his  inner  man  cor- 
respond with  this  gorgeous  outside  ?" 

"Hear  what  the  Duchess  of  Queensbury  says  of  him, 
and  judge  for  yourself.  He  was  about  building  a  house  in 
their  neighborhood ;  they  proposed  him  a  very  fine  situa- 
tion where  he  miglit  have  a  splendid  view  of  the  sea ;  but 
the  fine  gentleman  cried  out,  '  0  I  the  sea  looks  so  fierce  it 
frights  me.'     Is  he  not  a  pretty  fellow  to  be  a  legislator  ? 

"  Who  comes  here  ?  Antony  Henley,  one  of  the  most 
brutal  profligates  in  England,  and  only  inferior  to  his 
brother,  whom  we  call  'Surly  Bob.'  Have  you  heard  of 
the  letter  he  sent  to  his  constituents  last  week  ?  They 
wrote  to  him  to  oppose  the  Excise  Bill.  This  was  his 
answer — 

" '  Rascals,  I  received  yours,  and  am  surprised  at  your 
insolence  in  troubling  me  about  the  excise.  You  know 
what  I  very  well  know,  that  I  bought  you,  and  I  am  de- 
termined to  sell  you.  And  I  know  what  you  perhaps  think 
I  do  not  know,  you  are  now  selling  yourselves  to  somebody 


388  EDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

else.  And  I  know  what  you  do  not  know,  that  I  am  buy- 
ing another  borough.  May  God's  curse  light  on  you  all ; 
may  your  houses  be  as  open  and  common  to  all  excise  offi- 
cers as  your  wives  and  daughters  were  to  me  when  I  stood 
for  your  rascally  corporation.' 

"  Now,  Wortley,  if  ever  you  stand  for  Huntingdon,  you 
will  know  how  to  address  your  voters ;  this  indeed  may  be 
regarded  as  a  model  of  composition." 

"Nay,"  said  I,  "I  know  something  of  these  matters  too, 
for  I  had  a  little  to  do  with  the  last  election  for  Bilgewater. 
I  think  Henley  must  have  been  its  member,  for  there  is  not 
a  line  in  his  letter  which  is  not  applicable  to  that  noted 
constituency." 

Henley  seeing  us  looking  at  him  rather  keenly,  walked 
unceremoniously  up  to  where  we  were. 

"  Hallo !  Fielding,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  pulled  off 
your  mask  for  ?     Ain't  you  afraid  of  the  bailiffs  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  was,"  retorted  Harry,  "but  when  I  saw 
you  walking  about  so  fearlessly,  I  knew  that  there  were 
none  here,  and  that  I  was  safe." 

"Damn  ye,"  answered  Henley,  "you're  out  there — ^my 
privilege  of  Parliament  protects  me — so  you're  bitten." 

"  Well,  then,"  added  Fielding,  "  the  true  reason  why  I 
pulled  it  off"  was  this :  I  heard  you  were  to  be  here  in  a 
domino  like  this,  and  not  to  be  mistaken  for  the  veriest 
rogue  in  Parliament,  I  uncovered  my  face." 

Henley  abruptly  left  us. 

"But  who  is  this  that  trips  so  nymph-like  over  the 
boards  ?  by  her  swimming  motion  I  cannot  be  mistaken — 
by  the  monkey  at  her  side  I  can  scarcely  be  deceived.  Let 
me  wait  till  I  hear  her  voice,  and  then  I  shall  be  more  cer- 
tain." 

Fielding  put  on  his  mask,  and  went  up  to  a  lady  dressed 
as  Night — a  dark  lace  dress  with  a  profusion  of  gold  stars, 
and  a  veil  of  the  same  costly  material  floating  to  the  floor. 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     889 

She  was  leaning  on  a  gentleman  attired  as  a  French  pos- 
tilion—  and  he  became  the  character  well.  Harry  made 
an  elegant  bow,  and  whispered,  "  Do  you  know  me  ?"  He 
received  an  answer  in  the  negative,  but  the  voice  was  like 
the  wild  soft  strain  of  a  harp — it  thrilled  through  every 
one's  very  heart.     Fielding  again  bowed  and  retired. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered  to  me,  "  I  was  right ;  it  is  Lady 
Vane — the  'swimming  Hawes'  of  your  mother's  ballad. 
She  is  just  married.  Her  father  is  a  rich  West  Indian;  he 
was  in  the  South  Sea  swindle,  by  which  he  increased  his 
estate  £40,000,  and  bought  a  most  lovely  place  near  Read- 
ing; but  ill-gotten  gains  seldom  prosper;  and  this  old 
knave  having,  like  a  big  rogue,  taken  a  mistress  and  got  a 
new  family,  he  brought  up  this  innocent  young  creature  to 
town,  and  published  everywhere  that  she  was  to  have  an 
immense  fortune ;  five  hundred  negroes  with  silver  collars 
and  so  forth.  This  drew  all  the  young  lords  and  rakes 
ifter  her ;  but  she  ran  away  with  Lord  William  Hamilton ; 
and  old  Hawes  used  this  as  a  pretext  not  to  give  her  a  six- 
pence— he  himself  having,  unknown  to  her,  devised  the 
whole  plot  of  the  elopement  by  bribing  her  maid,  who  en- 
couraged her  to  the  step.  Poor  Lord  William  was  a  very 
honorable  fellow,  but  like  all  Scotsmen,  he  had  no  money; 
he  was  disappointed,  but  what  could  he  do  ?  He  died  soon 
after  of  a  fever  caught  in  an  election  contest,  and  her 
father  immediately  sold  her  to  Lord  Vane,  the  imp  by  her 
side,  whom  she  detested,  but  who  it  is  said  settled  an  im- 
mense jointure  on  her,  which  I  don't  think  he  ever  means 
to  pay.  But  trust  me  she  will  soon  leave  him — or  I  have 
no  skill  in  women,  or  in  men  either."  How  this  prediction 
was  fulfilled,  all  the  world  knows. 

Poor  Lady  Vane !  I  am  truly  sorry  for  her.  Dr.  Smol- 
lett has  lately  published  her  life  and  adventures,  and  has 
been  much  abused  for  it ;  but  I  am  heartily  glad  he  has 
committed  them  to  the  press ;  otherwise  she  might  have 
25 


890     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

floated  down  to  posterity  in  tlie  same  ranlc  witii  mad  Lady- 
Oxford,  and  still  madder  Lady  Orford,  and  worst  and 
maddest  of  all,  that  wild  woman,  Charles  Townsend's  me- 
teoric mother.  I  followed  her  with  my  eyes.  I  was  under 
a  species  of  fascination  for  the  moment.  She  half  entranced 
and  bound  me  in  her  spells.  With  all  her  follies  there  was 
an  amount  of  heart  in  all  she  said  and  did ;  she  was  so 
evidently  genuine,  frank  and  good  natured,  that  had  I  not 
been  all-enthralled  to  the  noblest  of  women,  I  fear  I  should 
have  found  myself  among  this  lady's  adorers, 

A  lank  lean-looking  man,  something  like  a  horse-jockey, 
now  came  up  to  us.  "  Mr.  Fielding,"  said  he,  "  have  you 
seen  my  Lady  Burlington  here  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  "  she  has  just  passed  with  the  Grand 
Yizier — or  one  that  would  be  like  him." 

A  peculiar  smile,  half  silly,  half  spiteful,  passed  over  the 
other's  face,  and  he  left  us. 

"  There  is  a  fellow,"  said  my  cousin — "  he  resigned  a 
place  at  court  some  time  since,  because  he  would  not  vote 
with  Walpole, — ^but  his  wife,  who  is  openly  intriguing  with 
the  Duke,  as  his  Grace  is  evidently  amouring  with  the  prim 
Princess  Amelia — would  not  give  up  hers,  and  the  fool 
has  nearly  made  himself  ridiculous  by  losing  a  post  worth 
£3,000  a  year,  sooner  than  sacrifice  his  patriotism,  while 
he  dishonors  his  family  rather  than  give  up  the  £1,200 
which  he  gets  for  serving  cette  diablesse  Madame  la  prin- 
cesse,  as  the  King  calls  her.  How  can  you  account  for 
such  things  ?  Does  God  give  the  same  sort  of  brains  to 
these  creatures  that  he  bestows  on  ordinary  mortals  ?  Here 
is  that  blundering  blockhead.  Lord  Falmouth — I  know  him 
well,  though  he  is  disguised  as  a  Spanish  Grandee.  Ava- 
rice and  meanness  are  as  proverbial  in  that  family  as 
coarseness  and  lying  in  the  Stuarts.  When  this  fellow's 
father  was  dying  there  was  only  his  apothecary  present. 
'  AVatson,'  said  he,  '  give  me  a  shirt  out  of  that  drawer  in 


EDWAfiD    WOBTLET    MONTAGU.  891 

the  corner.'  The  apothecary  stared  and  begged  him  not 
to  disturb  himself — he  thought  he  was  raving.  '  Pray  give 
it  me,'  said  the  dying  lord,  '  for  I  understand  it  is  a  custom 
that  the  shirt  one  dies  in  becomes  the  perquisite  of  the 
layer  out ;  this  I  have  on  is  a  very  fine  lace  one,  but  that 
in  the  drawer  is  an  old  ragged  one,  and  good  enough  for 
the  jade.'  He  would  not  rest  and  could  not  die  till  Wat- 
son had  changed  them." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Jack  Frothwell — calling  a  crowd 
around  him — "  I  beg  pardon,  Ladies,  my  Lords  and  Gen- 
tlemen, who  among  you  can  help  me  to  two  hundred 
guineas  ?" 

"Not  I,"  says  one,  and  "Not  I,"  says  another,  and  a 
third  said  "  I'll  see  you  damned  first." 

"Ah,"  says  Jack,  "  I  thought  how  it  w^ould  be;  none  of 
you  will  own  to  this  robbery." 

"What  robbery?"  demanded  a  hundred  voices. 

"  Wliy  this  robbery  advertised  in  all  the  papers,"  and 
Jack  read  aloud  as  follows : 

"Lost  or  mislaid,  one  pair  of  large  brilliant  diamond 
earrings  with  drops,  the  first  water,  and  one  odd  night  ear- 
ring, with  tliree  brilliant  diamonds ;  three  large  bars  for 
the  breast,  set  with  rose  diamonds.  If  offered  to  be  sold, 
pawn'd  or  valued,  pray  stop  'em  and  the  party,  especially 
if  it  be  a  young  lady,  and  give  notice  to  Mr.  Drummond, 
Goldsmith,  at  Charing  Cross,  and  you  shall  receive  200 
Guineas  reward  for  the  same." 

"  There  now.  Ladies,"  resumed  Jack,  "  3'^ou  see  how  it  is. 
Can't  you  put  this  sum  of  money  in  my  way  for  nothing, 
and  drat  me  if  I  won't  give  half  of  it  to  the  informer  and 
myself  in  the  bargain,  if  she's  a  pretty  one  ?" 

"  Bravo,  bravo,  Jack,"  shouted  out  his  companions,  and 
they  rushed  after  a  huge  figure  arrayed  in  the  robes  of 
Lord  Chancellor,  who  was  singing  an  indecent  ballad. 


392  EDWABD     WORTLEY     MONTAQIJ. 

"  Who,  is  that  tall,  thin,  lathlike  man,  something  like 
the  Monument,"  I  asked,  "who  is  dressed  as  ^Esculapius  ?" 

"  That,"  said  Fielding,  scanning  him  very  closely,  "  is 
Dr.  St.  Andre,  who  came  over  to  this  country  a  perfect 
pauper,  but  by  some  lucky  lines,  got  himself  into  notice, 
and  would  probably  have  been  appointed  sergeant-surgeon 
to  the  King  himself,  only  that  he  made  himself  the  town 
jest  by  the  rabbit  business,  which  produced  so  great  a 
noise  a  few  years  ago.  He  was  himself,  I  believe,  persuaded 
that  Mary  Tofts  was  the  veritable  mother  of  I  know  not 
how  many  of  these  interesting  animals,  and  he  invited  Sir 
Hans  Sloane  and  the  chiefs  of  the  Royal  Society  to  be 
present  at  the  incubation.  They  went,  and  were  deceived 
likewise,  and  the  Society  was  about  to  adopt  her,  and 
identify  themselves  with  the  deception,  but  luckily  the 
cheat  was  discovered,  and  the  Fellows  saved  from  irreme- 
diable disgrace.  For  they  have  patronized  so  many  ab- 
surdities, that  one  or  two  more  will  squelch  them  utterly. 
St.  Andre  retired  into  the  country,  where  he,  and  the 
woman  who  is  with  him,  Lady  Betty  Molyneux,  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  contrived  to  poison  her  husband,  by 
which  the  lady  came  in  for  thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  is 
now  married  to  St.  Andre.  Pope  has  preserved  her  in  his 
amber,  as  '  the  poisoning  wife.'  They  are  a  very  happy 
nice  couple,  and  do  well  to  figure  at  this  place." 

"Why,  Harrj',"  I  remarked,  "you  are  as  good  as  Asmo- 
deus ;  you  know  all  these  people,  as  well  as  if  you  were 
their  father  confessor." 

"  Better,  m}"^  dear  Coz,  better,"  he  answered,  "  for  when 
you  have  lived  as  long  as  me,  and  seen  as  much,  you  will 
know  that  it  is  only  the  minor  sins  that  are  revealed  in 
confession — ^the  greater  never  are.  For  the  honor  of  the 
state  and  our  high  civilization,  this  is  not  the  only  lady 
poisoner  we  have  here  to-night.  Unless  I  mistake  I  see 
Lady  Deloraine;"  and  he  pointed  out  a  mask  who  now 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     893 

slowly  approached  us.  She  was  dressed  in  Indian  costume, 
and  looked  magnificent,  but  I  could  not  see  her  features. 
The  opportunity,  however,  was  soon  aftorded.  Anthony 
Henley  walked  up  to  her,  and  without  the  slightest  cere- 
mony pulled  off  her  mask.  Her  face  instantly  grew  filled 
with  blood ;  she  darted  at  him  one  baleful  glance,  but  in 
an  instant  her  whole  expression  changed.  She  absolutely 
smiled  on  him  and  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome.  I  could 
then  observe  her ;  her  eyes  were  round  and  bright  just  like 
an  adder's ;  they  were  vividly  clear  and  still ;  tlie  lips  were 
thin  lines  of  red ;  the  motion  was  soft  and  gliding.  All 
poisoners  have  this  peculiarity.  I  happened  once  to  be 
thrown  by  circumstances  into  the  company  of  the  greatest 
poisoner  of  this  or  any  other  age.  When  he  moved  it  was 
with  so  soft  and  gentle  a  step  from  place  to  place  that  you 
started  to  find  him  beside  or  behind  you,  when  you  had 
only  a  moment  before  seen  him  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  His  voice  was  low  and  modulated,  but  an  obser- 
vant ear  could  detect  something  sibilant  in  its  under  tones. 
The  whole  appearance  was  remarkably  sleek,  smooth  and 
clean ;  and  so  it  is  with  the  most  venomous  of  adders  (the 
puff  adder),  which  would  be  miserable  if  the  least  speck 
begrimed  its  glittering  coat. 

"  Who  is  this  woman  ?"  I  asked  Fielding. 

"She  is  bedchamber  woman  at  Court,"  he  said;  "she 
sings  loose  songs  for  the  king  every  night  before  he  goes 
to  bed,  and  the  woman  she  poisoned  was  a  pretty  Scotch 
woman  named  McKenzie,  who  was  rather  in  her  way." 

Here  a  middle-sized,  ill-shaped  sort  of  woman,  with  fine 
eyes  and  thin  nose  projecting  to  a  point,  suddenly  pulled 
off  her  mask,  while  she  used  her  fan  to  cool  herself.  In 
doing  so  she  exposed  a  magnificent  pair  of  diamond  ear- 
rings. 

"Are  these  Jack  Frothwell's  jewels,  I  wonder  ?  If  bo, 
hadn't  we  better  claim  the  reward  ?" 


894  EDWARD     WORTLEY    MONTAQIT. 

"  No,"  answered  my  companion,  "  they  are  Lord  Pom- 
fret's,  and  are  well  paid  for," 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?     Is  this  woman  a — " 

"  Oh  I  dear  no ;  don't  be  mistaken ;  she  is  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  Lady  Sundon.  I  happen  to  know  that  she  got 
those  very  ear-rings  for  procuring  the  Mastership  of  the 
Horse  for  Pomfret.  She  does  well  to  wear  her  bribe  in  her 
ears.  But  I  wonder  that  she  has  boldness  enough  to 
do  so." 

"  Nay ;  I  think  she  does  not  only  well  but  wisely.  How 
could  you  have  people  know  where  there  is  wine  to  be  sold, 
unless  there  is  a  sign  hung  out?" 

"  That  saying  is  worthy  of  your  mother,  my  boy.  Sun- 
don, who  is  decent  in  other  respects,  ought  to  be  above 
this,  for  she  is  now  enormously  rich.  0,  England,  thou 
art  a  glorious  land  for  prime  ministers  and  royal  serving 
women.  Walpole  came  up  to  town  with  only  eight  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year,  debts  innumerable,  and  a  heap  of 
brothers,  and  country  cousins  and  sisters  to  keep  out  of  it, 
and  he  now  owns  Houghton,  the  greatest  house  in  Norfolk, 
and  with  a  gallery  of  paintings  perhaps  unequalled  in  the 
world.  Lady  Sundon  was,  like  Craggs,  a  servant  at  St. 
James's,  and  taking  money  from  bishops,  archbishops, 
courtiers  and  parsons,  she  is  now  worth  one  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds,  with  probably  forty  thousand  pounds  more 
in  jewels  and  finery — the  gift  of  the  well  discerning,  who 
have  quick  eyes  for  that  sort  of  merit,  which  can  give  re- 
wards to  its  believers." 

"  Here  comes  Sewallis  Shirley,"  whispered  Fielding,  point- 
ing to  a  thin,  well-made  man  with  blue  eyes,  but  a  dissi- 
pated air ;  "  they  say  he  loves  Lady  Vane,  and  if  I  were  my 
lord  I  should  beware  of  him,  for  he  is  a  dangerous  man 
with  the  sex.  And  there  is  Lady  Pomfret  herself,  Jeffrey's 
granddaughter — a  great  crony  of  your  mamma,  who  prob- 
ably had  wit  enough  to  make  her  husband  bribe  Lady  Sun- 


EDWABD  W0RTLB7  MONTAaU.     895 

don.  But  who  is  this  in  full  canoniqals  ?  As  I  live  it  is 
Orator  Henley ;  but  where  he  has  got  the  money  to  buy  his 
ticket  I  know  not,  unless  some  mad  wag  with  more  gold 
than  brains  has  sent  him  here  to  make  us  laugh." 

The  Orator  swaggered  towards  us,  and  was  evidently 
pleased  at  the  admiration  which  he  excited ;  a  crowd  of 
young  fellows  fresh  from  Oxford  followed  him,  and  wit  and 
puns,  and  classical  allusions  were  bandied  freely  about 
between  them.  One  of  them  now  pulled  forward  a  chair ; 
and  arranged  some  benches  in  a  circular  shape,  and  thei*e 
being  a  general  call  for  a  sermon,  the  reverend  gentleman 
with  great  meekness  mounted  the  temporary  pulpit,  and 
adjusting  his  bands  and  trying  hard  to  look  demurely, 
began  as  follows : 

"Beloved  brethren,  and  ye,  my  sisters,  more  beloved  still 
— hearken  unto  my  speech,  and  give  ear  unto  my  words, 
for  verily  they  will  be  of  sweet  savor  to  your  worldly 
souls.  Clouds  ye  are,  without  water,  carried  about  of 
winds;  trees  whose  fruit  withereth  without  fruit,  twice 
dead,  plucked  up  by  the  roots;  raging  waves  of  the  sea, 
foaming  out  their  own  shame ;  wandering  stars  to  whom  is 
reserved  the  blackness  of  darkness  forever.  All  this  ye 
are  naturally,  I  say;  yet  if  ye  do  but  follow  the  holy 
counsel  which  I  shall  bestow,  ye  shall  ascend  with  Paul 
into  the  high  heaven,  which  I  wish  he  had  described  for 
the  edification  of  all  sinners  like  yourselves.  Ask  ye  where 
ye  shall  hear  that  holy  counsel  ?  In  the  sacred  groves  of 
Academe — I  mean  Clare  Market,  it  may  be  heard ;  by  the 
classic  waters  of  the  Ills — I  mean,  the  pump  of  Clement's 
Inn,  the  words  of  wisdom  may  be  gleaned.  Therefore  do 
I  counsel  ye,  one  and  all,  repair  thither  without  further 
delay,  and  lay  up  store  of  that  holy  treasure,  which  shall 
abide  unto  you  when  all  others  shall  have  passed  away. 
But  unto  those  abandoned  ones,  who  will  not  listen,  woe 
unto  them,  for  they  have  gone  in  the  way  of  Cain,  and  ran 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAQ0. 

greedily  after  the  error  of  Balaam  for  reward,  and  perished 
in  the  gainsaying  of  Core." 

Here  a  young  wag,  in  a  horribly  nasal  tone,  cried  "  Ah- 
men  I" 

"We  are  told  by  holy  Jude,  the  sanctified  brother  of 
James  the  Apostle,"  resumed  Henley,  "  that  Michael  the 
Archangel  disputed  with  the  devil  about  the  body  of  Moses, 
but  how  he  discovered  the  burial  place  of  the  Hebrew 
patriarch  hath  not  been  revealed,  for  he  was  entombed  in 
great  secresy  somewhere  in  the  land  of  Moab.  Many 
people  believe  this  to  be  a  literal  fact,  and  the  infidels  and 
scoffers — of  whom  this  wicked  city  is  full — have  often 
grown  irreverent  on  the  subject,  even  in  the  presence  of 
these  men  of  God,  the  Right  Reverend  Bishops  of  the 
Church  that  is  by  law  Established.  But  it  has  always 
appeared  to  me  that  holy  Jude  merely  meant  to  speak 
figuratively  in  that  place,  and  that  he  hath  bequeathed  to 
us  a  metaphorical  type,  which  might  often  be  applied  with 
singular  force  to  the  great  variety  of  things  which  we  daily 
see  around  us.  For  it  cannot  be  seriously  contended  that 
the  narrative  should  be  taken  literally ;  the  dead  body  of 
the  son  of  Amram  being,  as  I  conceive,  of  no  earthly  use 
whatever  to  the  Prince  of  the  Air,  whom  some  call  Lucifer. 
For  to  fry  it  in  his  fires  would  avail  nothing,  the  soul  suf- 
fering not  by  the  dead  body's  discomfiture ;  and  the  soul 
itself  we  know  he  could  not  get.  Therefore  I  have  alwaj^s 
regarded  the  text  in  question  as  being  one  of  those  grand 
outbursts  of  fancy  for  which  the  prophets  were  famous ; 
and  which  is  capable  of  being  turned  to  the  most  useful 
account  in  all  the  transactions  of  living  life." 

Here  the  same  wag  again  groaned  out  "  Ah-men !" 

"When  I  see  a  Minister  of  State  doubtful  whether  he 

shall  sell  his  country  to  a  foreign  prince  for  a  bribe  of  fifty 

thousand  pounds,  or  whether  he  shall  not  rather  content 

himself  with  the  thirty  (and  security)  which  ho  may  have 


EDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     397 

hy  robbing  the  credulous  public  at  home,  methinks  I  think 
I  see  the  Devil  then  contending  with  the  Archangel  for  the 
body  of  Moses. 

"When  I  see  a  very  reverend  clergyman,  high  in  the 
Church,  balancing  his  conscience  between  his  support  of 
public  measures,  which  he  knows  to  be  inimical  to  the 
country,  and  his  ambition  after  a  mitre,  which  he  is  as- 
sured is  worth  ten  thousand  a  year,  then  methinks  I  see 
the  Devil  awfully  contending  with  the  Archangel  for  the 
body  of  Moses. 

"  When  I  see  a  young  virgin  hesitating  between  the  arms 
of  old  age,  holding  forth  in  each  hand  a  well-filled  casket 
of  gold  and  jewels,  and  the  seducing  smiles  of  some  younger 
cavalier,  to  whom  she  has  given  what  she  calls  her  heart, 
then  methinks  I  see  the  Devil  wrangling  with  the  Arch- 
angel for  the  body  of  Moses. 

"  When  I  see  a  merchant  great  on  'Change,  immersed  in 
anxious  reflections,  whether  he  shall  secure  five  thousand 
guineas  by  some  bold  fraud  in  stock  or  merchandise,  or 
whether  he  shall  not  rather  be  more  safe  if  he  heaps  gold 
on  gold  by  his  accustomed  quiet  driblets  of  peculation, 
then  methinks  I  see  the  Devil  stoutly  fighting  with  the 
Archangel  for  the  body  of  Moses. 

"  When  I  see  the  blatant  patriot,  who  has  entered  the 
House  of  Commons,  sworn  to  wreak  vengeance  on  tlie 
enemies  of  freedom,  secretly  selling  himself  to  the  First 
Lord  for  a  place  in  the  Ministry,  while  with  many  a  pang 
of  anticipation  he  hears  the  groans  of  his  deluded  country- 
men, and  is  half  inclined  to  wait  a  little  longer — that  he 
may  get  a  higher  price,  then  methinks  I  see  the  Devil 
squabbling  with  the  Archangel  for  the  body  of  Moses. 

"When  I  see  the  ermined  judge  condemning  a  man  to 
jail  whose  only  crime  is  that  he  differs  in  opinion  with  the 
ignorant  many  who  constitute  what  is  called  the  State, 
while  under  his  belt  he  carries  the  promise  of  the  King 


898     EDWAED  WORTLHY  MONTAGU. 

that  he  shall  be  made  a  Privy  Councillor  for  his  supple- 
ness, then  indeed  I  see  the  Devil  clapper-clawing  the  Arch- 
angel about  the  body  of  Moses. 

"  When  I  see  the  skilful  doctor  listening  to  his  patient's 
enumeration  of  symptoms,  and  prescribing  for  him  the 
pill,  while  he  pockets  the  daily  fee,  yet  all  the  while  con- 
fessing to  his  own  heart  that  better  than  pill  or  potion 
would  be  that  hermit  abstinence  from  the  bottle  or  the 
feast,  which  is  the  true  source  of  the  disease,  but  which  he 
nevertheless  hints  not  to  the  gold  bestower,  then  also  I  see 
the  Devil  brangling  with  the  Archangel  for  the  body  of 
Moses. 

"  When  I  see  the  assembled  wisdom  of  the  nation,  mak- 
ing the  loudest  outcries  against  electoral  bribery  and  cor- 
rujstion,  and  denouncing  it  as  an  iniquity  before  heaven, 
while  among  them  they  know  that  some  of  the  most  odious 
bribers  and  corrupters  that  ever  lived  are  fat  and  flourish- 
ing, and  though  they  make  innumerable  false  pretences  to 
a  virtue  which  they  have  not,  they  take  no  real  pains  at  all 
to  discourage  the  villany  against  which  they  disclaim,  or 
to  expel  the  bribers  whom  they  abuse — ^then  in  truth  I  see 
the  Devil  wrestling  hard  with  the  Archangel  for  the  body 
of  Moses. 

"  In  fine,  whenever  I  look  abroad  upon  the  vast  theatre 
of  society,  and  see  the  struggles  which  in  every  rank  and 
order  hourly  do  take  place  between  conscience  and  villainy, 
the  fights  that  happen  between  our  moral  sense,  and  our 
own  immoral  sensualisms ;  between  our  conviction  of  what 
is  true  and  our  devotion  to  what  is  false,  between  our  scorn 
of  the  beautiful,  and  our  pursuit  of  the  base,  then,  my 
brethren,  is  forcibly  brought  before  me  the  terrible  contest 
that  is  always  going  on  between  the  Devil  and  the  Arch- 
angel about  the  body  of  Moses." 

"  Ah-men,"  groaned  the  wag  who  had  before  officiated, 
and  with  a  burst  of  laughter,  the  congregation  left  the 


EDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAQU.     399 

orator  and  ran  after  a  new  figure  who  carried  a  puppet 
show.  Henley,  no  way  disconcerted,  was  seen  the  next 
minute  discussing  a  bottle  with  two  or  three  ladies  who 
would  never  have  done  for  Roman  vestals,  though  I  half 
think  they  were  disguised  in  that  character.  So  the  scene 
went  on,  and  the  whole  of  Pandemonium  seemed  let  loose. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

Now  the  Prince  of  Wales  entered,  his  royal  highness 
Fred  (his  father  called  him  "  Fritz,"  and  his  mother  "Griflf,") 
a  little  man  of  pink  complexion,  light  hair  and  spindle- 
shanked,  with  lively  eyes,  but  remarkably  awkward  and 
ungraceful.  He  was  attended  by  his  sham  Court,  who  in 
all  things  set  themselves  up  in  pigmy  opposition  to  Wal- 
pole  and  the  right  honorable  lords  and  ladies  who  basked 
in  the  sovereign  presence.  There  was  fat  Windham,  Pul- 
teney  and  his  wife,  Annie  Gumlej',  half  Auxen,  half  doxey, 
and  Lord  Scarborough,  who  made  a  jest  of  all  religion, 
and  Lady  Bolingbrooke,  and  Bubb  Dodington,  and  Lyttle- 
ton,  tall,  thin,  ugly-faced,  and  ill-formed,  with  a  voice  like  a 
scritch  owl — ^the  very  counterpart  of  his  description  in  the 
ballad — 

Bat  who  Is  dat  bestride  a  pony, 
So  long,  BO  lean,  so  lank,  so  bonyt 
Dat  be  great  Orator  Littletony. 

"Yonder,"  says  Fielding,  "are  Rigby  and  Winnington; 
you  may  know  the  first  by  his  matchless  impudence  of 
forehead,  and  the  purpureum  lumen  of  perpetual  burgundy 
which  seems  to  flash  out  of  every  coarse  feature.  His 
father  was  a  South  Sea  robber ;  the  son  is  not  yet  a  sena- 
torial Turpin,  but  he  soon  will  be  ready  to  take  money  and 
spend  it  in  any  business.     Winnington,  who  is  member 


400     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU. 

for  Droitwich,  seems  on  the  look  out  for  our  friend  Audrey 
Townsend,  whose  favored  love  he  boasts  himself  to  be, 
though  I  think  she  is  wild  after  Harry  Nisbett  too,  and  he 
shares  her  with  half  a  dozen  stout  chairmen  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. Both  have  come,  I  suppose,  from  a  cock  match.  But 
what  brings  old  Gibbon  here  ?  Are  all  the  South  Sea 
plunderers  here  to-night?  They  should  have  poisoned 
themselves  like  Craggs.  Yonder  old  fellow  was  fined 
£10,000  for  his  part  in  the  pillage ;  had  it  been  £50,000 
it  would  not  have  been  enough.     Look  at  him." 

I  did  so  ;  the  perfect  image  of  a  baboon  he  was.  Many 
years  afterwards  I  saw  his  grandson  at  Lausanne — he 
seemed  to  have  been  spit  out  of  the  old  gentleman's  mouth. 
He  is  a  most  laughable  fellow  to  see. 

Numerous  were  the  illustrious  lords  and  ladies  who  now 
attracted  attention;  conspicuous  among  them  was  Lord 
Carteret,  famous  as  the  greatest  humbug  of  his  day,  and 
Lady  Archibald  Hamilton,  who  at  the  age  of  thirty-five 
got  the  place  of  cofferer  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Sur- 
veyor-General of  the  Duchy  of  Cornwall  for  her  excellent 
spouse.  With  her  was  Scarborough's  brother,  who  was 
treasurer  to  the  Prince. 

Alas !  all  their  glories  seemed  but  short-lived,  for  scarcely 
had  they  entered  when  the  king  himself  and  Madam  Wal- 
moden  came  amid  a  tremendous  clatter,  followed  by  the 
bowing  courtiers ;  at  whose  sublime  appearance  the  rival 
worshippers  of  the  rising  sun  looked  small  indeed.  Hei- 
degger at  once  advanced  to  the  orchestra  and  ordered  them 
to  play  up  "  God  save  the  King,"  which  they  immediately 
did,  and  as  that  sacred  song  arose,  the  loyal  audience 
seemed  bursting  with  enthusiasm  for  the  royal  manikin, 
who,  if  he  were  indeed  "the  Lord's  anointed,"  made  one 
think  that  God  must  have  been  sadly  in  want  of  men  when 
he  made  a  monkey  his  representative.     For  the  fellow  was 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      401 

80  hideous  a  dwarf  that  when  poor  little  Lord  Edgcombe 
was  presented  to  him  at  Court,  it  was  said  his  Majesty — 

Rejoiced  to  find  within  Ills  Court 
One  shorter  than  himself. 

But  here  a  new,  a  horrible  incident  arose.  The  Duke 
of  Montagu  had  long  been  known  on  town  for  one  of  the 
most  desperate  of  wags.  He  and  some  friends  had  decoyed 
Heidegger  a  few  nights  before  to  a  noted  tavern,  where 
under  pretence  of  drinking  his  health  they  had  rendered 
him  so  stupidly  intoxicated  that  they  got  a  plaster  cast  of 
his  features,  and  as  they  were  horribly  ugly,  pitted  all  over 
with  small-pox,  and  full  of  the  most  rugged  ups  and  downs, 
and  crosses  and  touches,  they  had  no  difficulty  in  getting 
a  fine  wax  mask  made,  which  presented  even  to  the  most 
skilful  eye  all  the  rough  lineaments  of  this  lucky  Swiss. 
It  was  not  diflicult  to  discover  in  what  dress  the  master  of 
the  ceremonies  would  appear  on  the  occasion  of  the  roj'al 
visit ;  and  tlie  Duke  had  a  complete  counterpart  made  in 
which  he  clothed  a  humorous  fellow  from  one  of  the  play- 
houses, who  for  a  bribe  of  ten  guineas  undeilook  to  per- 
sonate Heidegger  on  this  occasion.  Scarcely  therefore  had 
that  accomplished  master  given  the  direction  which  I  have 
mentioned,  and  scarcely  had  the  first  bars  been  played,  when 
the  false  Heidegger  taking  advantage  of  the  momentary 
attendance  of  the  true  one  on  the  king,  came  forward  and 
very  quietly  said,  "  Genthimen,  play  Charlie  over  the  Water." 
The  band  was  rather  surprised,  but  they  could  only  obey 
so  they  changed  the  loyal  note  for  one  that  sounded  re- 
markably like  treason.  All  was  instantly  confusion.  Hei 
degger,  who  was  following  the  king,  ran  back  like  a  mad 
man,  and  rushing  to  the  master  of  the  band,  cried  out, 
"What  for  you  play  Charlie  over  the  Vater.  Damn  you 
play  God  save  the  King.''  The  band  in  perfect  amazement 
dropped  the  Jacobite  air,  and  struck  up  the  solemn  strain, 


402     EDWARD  WOBTLBT  MONTAGU. 

Heidegger  again  rushed  after  the  king,  doubtless  intending 
to  explain  and  apologize,  when  the  duke's  Heidegger  came 
forward  and  said,  "  Why  for  you  play  dat  damned  ting  ? 
Did  I  not  tell  you  to  play  Charlie  over  de  water  ?  You 
shall  all  be  dismissed  to-morrow,  by  Gad,  for  dis."  The 
band  could  now  only  conclude  that  the  master  of  the  cere- 
monies was  drunk  or  mad.  They  however  again  struck 
up  the  rebellious  air,  to  the  horror  of  all  the  Whigs  and 
Courtiers,  but  to  the  immense  delight  of  all  the  Tories  and 
Jacobites  present.  The  king  himself  was  now  in  a  rage ; 
the  poor  Walmoden  was  white  as  a  sheet,  when  Heidegger, 
rushing  into  his  majesty's  presence,  spluttered  out — 

"  Please,  your  royal  sacred  majestj-,  it  is  not  me — not 
me.  De  band  is  mad ;  de  band  is  drunk ;  de  band  is 
bribed  by  some  villain — some  dirty  rascal  to  do  dis.  It  is 
not  me,  majesty ;  not  me — not  me." 

The  false  Heidegger  as  instantly  came  forward,  and 
pointing  to  the  true  Simon  Pure,  said — 

"  Please,  your  majesty,  dis  fellow  is  von  rogue,  imposter, 
knave,  rascal.  He  it  be  dat  do  all  dis.  He  have  de  money 
of  de  Jacobites.     He  do  this  for  gilt." 

The  King  burst  out  laughing;  the  courtiers  at  once 
joined  in  the  royal  mirth.  Heidegger  himself  turned  pale, 
and  looked  as  if  he  saw  a  ghost.  All  was  confusion,  and 
there  would  have  probably  been  a  general  row,  had  not  the 
Duke  himself  come  forward  and  humbly  begging  pardon 
of  the  King,  explained  (in  French,  for  this  English  mon- 
arch did  not  know  the  language  of  his  people)  the  joke 
which  he  had  prepared  for  the  royal  delectation,  and  all 
passed  off  very  pleasantly. 

"  If  an  angel  could  come  from  heaven  and  see  this  mum- 
ming, I  wonder  what  he'd  think  of  it,"  said  my  companion. 

"  You  must  be  a  pretty  fellow  to  make  such  a  remark  as 
that,"  said  a  mask  near  us,  "when  there  are  so  many 
angels  all  about  you." 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     403 

"  Fallen  ones,  though,"  said  the  dramatist ;  "  I  wonder 
will  they  ever  get  back  to  heaven." 

"  Their  heaven  is  here,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Well,  I  wonder  where  we  shall  all  be  this  time  one  hun- 
dred years.    No  masking  in  the  other  world,  I  fear." 

"Ah  I  now  you  grow  profane."     And  the  mask  left  us. 

"  I  think  I  know  that  woman,"  said  Fielding ;  let  us  fol- 
low her  a  bit."  But  the  mask  eluded  us  through  the  dense 
crowd,  and  we  stopped  to  look  a  few  moments  at  a  table 
where  gaming  was  going  on  at  a  great  rate.  Suddenly 
Fielding  turned  away  and  exclaimed — 

"0,  ye  immortal  gods  and  goddesses;  ye  who  swelled 
the  hearts  of  Agamemnon  and  Pelides  with  noble  wrath, 
how  heartily  I  wish  that  Dick  Savage  were  here ;  but  he  is 
now,  I  suppose,  lying  in  a  kennel  dead  drunk,  or  fast 
asleep  on  a  butcher's  bench  in  Newgate  Market.  Marry 
come  up,  we  should  have  had  a  glorious  scene  to  which 
this  of  Heidegger  is  but  milk  and  water." 

I  stared  at  tliis  rhapsody.  "  Why,  Hal,"  I  asked,  "  what's 
the  matter?" 

"Matter!"  he  repeated,  "why,  matter  for  fifty  dramatic 
scenes.  What  a  splendid  situation — the  king  present,  the 
heir  apparent,  all  the  high  nobility  of  the  land.  Heideg- 
ger and  Handel  in  the  full  moon  glory  of  their  music ;  in 
every  heart  bounding  joy ;  every  silver-footed  nymph  pant- 
ing for  the  minuet.  Suddenly  Dick  spies  two  masked 
strangers — ^the  one  a  tall  and  noble-looking  Colonel,  the 
other  an  ex-contessa,  and  still  beautiful.  He  rushes  to- 
wards them,  tears  open  his  shirt,  and  falling  on  his  kncea 
with  a  passion,  cries,  'Mother,  behold  your  son  I'  The 
Colonel  clasps  his  hand  to  his  sword ;  my  lady  lifts  her 
mask  and  looks  amazed ;  the  music  ceases ;  the  minuet  is 
suspended;  the  sovereign  himself  comes  forward,  when  the 
lady  recovers  her  speech  and  tragically  exclaims,  '  Begone, 


404  EDWARD    WOETLEY     MONTAaiT. 

imposter!'  Dick  immediately  faints,  and  there  is  a  grand 
tableau,  worthy  of  Rich  in  his  best  days." 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Henry,  what  is  all  this 
about  ?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Brett  yonder, 
whom  Savage  supposes  to  be  his  mother  ?  And  don't  you 
see  Miss  Brett  following,  who  is  a  Court  demirep,  and 
•whose  influence  saved  the  neck  of  her  half  brother  when 
he  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  ?  But  who  comes  here  ? 
Sir  William  Yonge,  Member  for  Honiton,  and  Tom  Win- 
nington  with  him." 

They  sauntered  up  slowly  and  unmasked ;  the  place  was 
now  dreadfully  hot  and  close.  "  We  have  had  an  odd  dis- 
cussion together,"  says  Sir  William  Yonge — "  Tom  and  I ; 
nothing  less  than  whether  there  is  a  future ;  and  we  want 
a  parson  to  settle  it  for  us." 

"  If  you  get  a  parson  of  the  present  time  to  tell  you  he 
will  say  yes,  but  laugh  at  you  in  his  sleeve  if  yon  think 
him  serious,"  replied  Fielding.  The  pair  strolled,  or  rather 
reeled  and  rolled  away. 

"  There  are  two  beautiful  specimens,"  said  Fielding. 
"  But  they  merely  proclaim  what  nearly  all  feel,  but  are  too 
timid  to  say.  Lord  Hervej'^,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the  wits 
about  Court,  makes  no  secret  of  his  atheism ;  he  is  Yice- 
Chamberlain,  and  sees  all  the  begging  letters  which  the 
Queen  gets  from  the  parsons  to  make  them  bishops,  and  he 
protests  that  every  one  is  stuffed  with  envy,  falsehood,  de- 
traction of  each  other,  if  rivals ;  and  covert  sneers  if  they 
are  friends ;  together  with  a  sum  total  of  uncharitableness, 
avarice,  and  meanness  that  sickens  him  with  the  whole 
fraternity.*  !Now  I  don't  say  that  this  is  true,  but  Lord 
Hervey  says  it  is;   and  he  makes  it  a  rule  whenever  a 


*  Any  one  who  reads  the  letters  to  Lord  Bute  In  the  manuscript  department 
of  the  British  Museum,  can  easily  believe  this. 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      405 

Bishop  pronounces  the  name  of  God,  to  laugh  in  his  face 
as  a  hypocrite.  This  thing  reacts  on  the  whole  parlia> 
mentary  regiment  of  Sir  Robert ;  and  these  two  who  have 
just  left  us  are  captains  in  the  force;  so  that  we  are  pret- 
tily ruled  and  finally  fooled,  and  think  ourselves  the  most 
religious  people  in  the  world,  with  the  greatest  amount  of 
wickedness  practised  every  day  before  Heaven  and  the 
Sun." 

"  You  draw  a  very  pleasing  picture  of  things." 

"  Ah !  it's  no  worse  now  than  it  has  always  been.  Do  you 
think  Nineveh  and  Babylon  were  the  only  places  where 
they  practised  vice  ?  Nay,  by  St.  Ann,  we  commit  more  in 
one  day  in  England  than  those  stupid  Babylonians  did  in 
a  year." 

"Ain't  that  Grigsby?"  says  Arbuthnot,  who  saluted 
Fielding,  "  another  of  the  South  Sea  forty  thieves — Gads- 
life,  but  they're  all  here  in  honor  of  the  Royal  Family. 
This  fellow  was  so  vain  of  his  wealth  in  the  glorious  days 
of  jobbery,  that  he  once  ordered  his  coachman  to  feed  his 
horses  on  gold.  When  the  bubble  exploded,  and  all  the 
swindlers  were  before  the  House,  one,  Moore,  moved  that 
this  fellow  should  be  allowed  £10,000  out  of  the  spoil.  A 
wag  got  up  and  said,  '  That  as  Mr.  Grigsby  was  in  the 
habit  of  feeding  his  horse  on  gold,  he  had  no  doubt  he 
could  feed  on  it  himself;  he  therefore  moved  that  Mr. 
Grigsby  might  be  allowed  as  much  gold  as  he  could  eat, 
and  that  the  rest  of  his  estate  might  go  to  the  relief  of 
those  whom  he  had  pillaged.  The  house  laughed,  but  they 
allowed  the  fellow  £2,000." 

While  this  was  going  on,  Rigby  pulled  out  of  his  pock- 
ets a  bundle  of  Chinese  crackers;  and  assuming  his  mask 
went  up  to  a  lady  dressed  like  a  Peruvian  vestal,  to  whom 
he  made  a  low  bow,  and  presenting  them,  said,  "  Madame, 
if  you  put  this  to  the  next  sconce,  and  it  burns  blue  you  may 
be  sure  your  lover  is  faithful."  Luckily  a  sconce  happened 
26 


406     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

to  be  near;  and  the  unconscious  nymph,  without  a  moment's 
reflection,  applying  the  first  on  the  string,  the  wliole  exploded 
filling  the  room  with  smoke  and  a  most  unsavory  smell,  in 
the  midst  of  which  Rigby,  like  an  evil  spirit,  as  suddenly 
vanished. 

A  short,  stout-made,  coarse-looking  man,  but  with  an 
eye  glittering  with  humour,  a  true  English  terrier  face,  and  a 
firm  mouth,  came  up.  He  shook  Fielding  by  the  hand  very 
heartily,  saying,  "  Mr.  Fielding,  I  scarcely  expected  to  see 
you  hei*e,  patronizing  this  outlandish  French  thing." 

"Ah I  Hogarth,"  said  Harry,  "I  am  delighted  to  meet 
you.  Surely  you  may  know  what  has  brought  me,  with- 
out suspecting  that  I  had  any  partiality  for  the  Mounseers 
and  their  funny  frog-fashions.  I  have  no  doubt  we  have 
neither  of  us  come  to  see  that  ugly  owl  Heidegger — 

Teach  klogs  to  fiddle,  and  make  senates  dance, 

but  to  sketch  character;  you  for  the  easel,  your  humble 
servant  for  the  stage." 

"  Gad  so,"  said  our  companion  heartily^  you've  guessed 
right.  And  a  pretty  lot  of  long-eared  fools,  I  see — look  I 
I  have  just  taken  one  on  my  thumb-nail;"  and  he  showed 
us  a  laughable  sketch  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  face,  in  which 
"  that  little  monkey  full  of  tricks,"  as  Sir  Charles  Hanbury 
Williams  called  him,  was  inimitably  depicted — the  baboon 
outlines  which  so  many  ladies  loved,  being  hit  off  to  per- 
fection. 

"  I  know  a  woman  who  would  never  forgive  you,  if  she 
saw  that,"  said  Fielding,  glancing  towards  a  corner  of  the 
room  where  a  couple  seemed  very  fond. 

"  And  who  rbay  the  tasteless  jade  be  ?'^  asked  Hogarth  j 
"faith,  she  must  be  a  female  ape,  I  think — though  she 
dresses  like  one  of  Eve's  sex." 

"Why,  Lady  Fanny  Shirley,  whom  that  fellow  has 
flirted  with  for  the  last  ten  years,  and  after  whom  he  la 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     407 

now  dangling  in  yonder  recess,"  answered  the  dramatist, 
and  he  pointed  them  out. 

"Ohl  by  George,"  shouted  Hogarth,  "I'll  have  her 
also,"  and  he  began  to  make  a  humorous  sketch  of  the 
fair  lady. 

When  it  was  finished  he  showed  it  to  us — ^the  thing  was 
wonderful — worthy  of  so  great  a  genius  as  W.  H.  certainly 
was. 

"This  place  is  horribly  hot,"  he  said,  "I  wish  I  could 
get  a  pot  of  honest  English  porter,  and  a  steak — but  this 
cursed  Swiss  lets  nothing  in  but  his  foreign  wines,  and  his 
French  kickshaws,  the  very  look  of  which  makes  me  sick 
for  the  day.  How  much  do  they  reckon  the  knave  makes 
by  this  tom-foolery  ?" 

"  Why,  at  least  £5,000  a-year,  that  is  by  the  fair  profits, 
besides  what  he  gets  by  managing  the  assignations." 

Hogarth  sighed.  He  was  then  eking  out  a  scanty  sub- 
sistence for  himself,  like  my  poor  glorious  cousin,  and 
must  have  found  it  no  easy  matter  even  to  spare  the  money 
to  come  here.  He  probably  had  got  a  pass  from  Tyers,  or 
some  charitable  lover  of  art. 

"What's  that  Brutus  said,  when  he  was  dying?"  he 
asked. 

"  0,  Virtue  I  I  have  long  worshipped  thee — now  I  know 
thee  to  be  but  a  shadow,"  responded  Fielding. 

"Ah I  true,  true,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sad  gravity 

that  contrasted  strangely  with  that  laughing  eye  and  merry 

lip.     And  he  repeated  with  a  bluff  John  Bull  sort  of  accent, 

that  did  one  good  to  hearken  to  it,  amid  the  sighs  and 

simpers  of  this  effeminite  crowd : 

Ab  the  brute  world  to  Father  Adam  oain«, 
Bequestlng  with  Inquiring  looka  a  name, 
To  every  beast  a  title  he  assigned, 
And  nominated  all  the  sylran  kind. 
So  savaKO  multitudes  about  me  throng- 
Did  Adam's  power  but  to  me  belong  t 
Yet  though  they  cheat  the  world  by  their  disgnlM, 
They  are  but  assea  to  the  painter's  eyes. 


408  EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAQTT. 

And  saying  this,  the  splendid  little  wag  moved  off  in 
search  of  new  caricatures. 

Dodington  now  sailed  up  to  where  we  were. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "I  think  I  know  you,"  addressing  him- 
self to  Fielding,  who  had  put  on  his  mask  some  time  before. 

"That  is  more  than  I  do  myself,"  answered  Harry, 
"though  I  have  been  long  endeavoring  to  carry  out 
Solon's  advice  on  that  point." 

"  Your  answer  convinces  me  that  I  am  right.  You  are 
Henry  Fielding.     How  is  your  father  ?" 

"Faith!"  said  my  cousin,  "I  scarcely  know;  he  never 
writes  to  me  but  when  he  wants  to  borrow  money,  and  then 
he  always  tells  me  he  is  dying.  I  begin  to  think  he  must 
be  like  Tithonus." 

"  And  I  hope  you  lend  it  to  him  like  a  dutiful  son." 

"  I  give  it  when  I  can,  and  I  lend  it  when  I  cannot ;  and 
I  am  sorry  to  say  the  latter  is  the  most  usual  condition 
with  me." 

"  Every  man  of  talent  must  be  sorry  to  hear  it.  Shall  I 
give  you  a  cheque  for  £200  ?" 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  get  it,  but  on  what  ground?" 

"  Why  to  abuse  the  Prince  and  praise  Walpole." 

"  What !  praise  '  that  big  belly,  those  swollen  arms,  that 
huge  body,'  as  Queen  Caroline  calls  him !  Mr.  Dodington, 
I  did  not  think  you  would  insult  me  so.  You  know  that  I 
am  poor;  but  have  I  ever  shown  myself  a  rogue?" 

"  Oh !  damn  it,  I  thought  you  had  your  price,  like  all 
writers,  but  as  you  haven't,  good-night.  I  can  buy  as  good 
as  you  any  day  in  Fleet  street." 

"  There  goes  a  scoundrel,"  said  Fielding  to  me,  but  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  Bubb.  "  His  vanity,  insolence,  and 
vulgarity  are  all  insupportable.  He  is  the  King's  pimp, 
yet  he  thinks  himself  a  gentleman ;  he  is  Walpole's  butt,  yet 
he  fancies  himself  a  patriot ;  he  is  Bolingbroke's  tool,  yet 
he  supposes  he  is  a  wit.     If  a  lady  but  speaks  to  him,  he 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      409 

repeats  among  all  his  friends  that  he  has  seduced  her;  and 
if  the  King  kicks  him  he  falls  down  on  his  knees  and  begs 
to  kiss  his  hand  for  such  a  mark  of  favor.  Bridgewater 
has  a  member  worthy  of  it." 

I  could  see  how  nettled  he  was.  To  be  insulted  by  any 
one  is  not  pleasant,  but  to  be  insulted  by  the  meanest  of 
mankind,  which  this  Dodington  was,  was  assuredly  a  bitter 
pang.  Notwithstanding  his  philosophy,  he  was  sullen  and 
silent  for  three  or  four  minutes.  At  length  he  said,  as  if 
involuntaril}' — 

"  Why  should  this  flea  annoy  me  ?" 

And  he  recited,  in  his  rich  mellow  tones — 

"  When  for  some  time  he  sat  at  the  Treasury  board. 
And  the  clerks  there  with  titles  had  tickled  his  ear, 
From  every  day  hearing  himself  called  a  lord. 
He  begged  of  Sir  Robert  to  make  Mm  a  peer. 

But  in  an  111  hoar. 

For  Walpole  looked  sour, 
And  said  it  was  not  in  his  will  or  his  power, 
Do  you  think,  sir,  the  King  would  advance  such  a  somb, 
Or  the  peerage  debase  with  the  name  of  a  Bubb?" 

This  outburst  relieved  Fielding;  his  rage  at  the  uncere 
monious  insolence  of  this  fat-faced  fawner  on  tlie  veriest 
lap-dogs  of  St.  James's  evaporated,  and  all  was  clear 
again.     He  laughed  and  said — 

"  Come,  let  us  seek  some  new  game.  But  before  we  leave 
just  look  at  that  stiff-looking  man  following  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  like  his  shadow;  you  have  heard  of  Gyles  Earle, 
member  for  Malmesbury,  now  one  of  the  Board  of  Green 
Cloth — that  is  he,  but  I  wish  you  could  see  his  crabbed 
face  and  hog's  eyes.  He  is  as  covetous  as  the  Duke  him- 
self, and  a  desperate  glutton  in  eating  oysters,  while  ho 
starves  his  unfortunate  servants,  and  won't  pay  even  his 
butcher's  or  his  Billingsgate  bills.  T'other  day,  as  he  was 
gorging  his  favorite  food  by  peckfuls,  he  said,  '  Oh,  what 
fine  things  oysters  would  be  if  we  could  make  our  servant? 
live  on  the  shells.' " 


410     EDWARD  WORTLKT  MONTAGU. 

While  we  were  digesting  this  joke,  a  smart  female  figure, 
with  the  archest  ejes  in  the  world  peering  through  her 
mask,  came  hastily  up  to  where  we  stood,  and  tapping 
Fielding  on  the  shoulder  with  a  splendid  fan,  cried  out  in 
musical  accents — 

"  My  dear  Fielding,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  this 
hour.     Come  with  me." 

"  My  dearest  countess,"  answered  Harry,  but  he  imme- 
diately checked  himself,  and  substituted  for  the  inadvertent 
word  the  more  equivocal  term  "creature,"  but  not  so  quickly 
as  to  be  unnoticed  by  me,  or  a  grinning  mask,  close  by, 
who  seemed  to  contemplate  the  moving  crowd  as  Cerberus 
might  look  upon  the  thronging  phantoms  hurrying  through 
the  gorge  of  Pluto. 

"  My  dearest  creature,"  says  my  cousin,  "  I  am  delighted 
that  we  have  met  at  last.  This  is  my  cousin,  young  Wort- 
ley  Montagu.  Wortley,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  Mrs. 
Johnson,  of  Bath." 

I  bowed  with  great  deference,  the  lady  curtseyed,  and 
whispered  something  into  my  companion's  ear.  He  turned 
to  me. 

"  Good-night,  Wortley,"  he  said,  "  I  must  go.  Let  me 
see  you  in  a  day  or  two,"  and  Fielding  and  Mrs.  Johnson 
of  Bath  disappeared  through  one  of  the  doors.  ^ 

The  old  Cerberus  of  whom  I  have  spoken  came  up. 

"So  you  are  young  Montagu,"  she  said,  "and  a  horrid 
scapegrace  too ;  and  that  spark's  Fielding,  and  Mrs.  John- 
son of  Bath  is — " 

"Aye,"  said  I,  "old  woman,  who  is  Mrs.  Johnson  of 
Bath?" 

"  Mrs.  Johnson  of  Bath  is  no  better  than  she  should  be, 
and  Fielding  will  rue  her  acquaintance  one  of  these  days. 
Her  maiden  name  was  Ethelreda,  or  rather  Audrey  Harrison, 
and  her  father  made  his  fortune  out  of  the  blacks,  when  he 
was  Governor  of  Fort  St.  George.     She  is  now  the  wife  of 


EDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     411 

Charles  Viscount  Townshend,  and  a  very  pretty  wife  she  is. 
She  is  squandering  her  black  blood-money  very  lavishly, 
and  has  a  particular  affection  foq^jyoung  fellows  like  your 
friend." 

I  heard,  and  was  amazed.  Alas,  poor  Harry  f  Had  it 
come  to  this  ?  Only  a  few  minutes  before  he  had  described 
this  lady  in  the  strangest  terms,  and  now — Ilad  his  neces- 
sities then  been  so  dire?  Doubtless.  He  described  all 
afterwards  in  Tom  Jones:  that  wondrous  work:  the  most 
perfect  picture  of  daily  life  since  Homer  sang. 
My  strange  companion  resumed : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  I  know  j-^our  mother.  Jack- 
anapes.    Have  you  come  with  her?" 

"  Madam,  that  you  are  a  woman  prevents  me  from  an- 
swering you  as  I  should,  but  I  beg — "         ^ 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  boy — don't  talk  to  an  old  woman  like  me 
in  your  hoity-toity  style.  I  am  a  grandmother — perhaps 
a  great  grandmother.  I  like  your  spirit  mjself,  and  I 
know  more  about  you  than  you  fancy.  Lend  me  your 
arm — "  and  she  put  forth  a  hand  beautifully  wliite,  and 
loaded  with  jewels  worthy  of  a  sovereign  queen.  Every 
finger  bore  a  gem  worth  a  king's  ransom.  I  had  never 
seen  or  even  dreamed  of  such  a  sight  as  this. 

I  supported  her  to  a  seat,  and  examined  her  closely.  I 
could  perceive  that  she  was  what  she  represented  herself  to 
be,  indeed,  an  old  woman,  but  her  hair  was  still  beautiful, 
her  eyes  were  bright,  and  her  hands  retained  their  loveliness. 
Her  figure  was  bent,  but  there  was  an  immense  spirit  evi- 
dently in  that  aged  frame.  She  spoke  with  an  air  of  com- 
mand. I  felt  that  I  was  talking  to  one  who  had  known 
and  lived  with  Emperors  and  Kings.  She  was  attired  as 
Margaret  Finch,  the  Gypsy  Queen,  and  now  began  to  tcU 
strange  wonders  to  gaping  inquirers.  She  seemed  to  pen- 
etrate every  disguise,  and  knew  the  secret  history  of  all 
who  questioned  her.    The  ordinary  rabble  who  approached 


412     BDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU, 

her  she  disdained  to  answer ;  but  the  ro3'al  and  noble  per- 
sons who  thronged  the  gay  scene  were  immediately  attended 
to,  and  I  noticed  that  the  majority  went  away  with  an  air 
of  chagrin.  She  kept  me  near  her,  but  yet  at  a  sufficient 
distance  not  to  overhear  all  she  said,  as  each  new-comer 
came.  A  wild  smile  of  delight  played  in  her  eye  as  some 
turned  away — a  melancholy  gleam  passed  over  it  as  she 
answered  others.  I  was  singularly  attracted  by  this  queer 
being,  and  was  constrained  to  stay  near  her,  not  only  be- 
cause she  told  me  to  do  so,  but  also  because  I  really  could 
not  tear  myself  away.  I  expected  at  each  new  interview 
something  definite  and  desperate,  which  would  perhaps 
require  my  interference  to  protect  her. 

"  Here  comes  Henrietta,  Duchess  of  Marlborough,"  she 
said,  as  a  wild-looking  woman  passed  us.  "  I  wonder  does 
she  ever  think  of  her  glorious  father,  who  made  her  what 
she  is  ?  Yet  I  think  not,  or  she  would  not  have  disgraced 
herself  with  that  blind,  gouty,  vain  coxcomb,  Congreve, 
the  player,  or  taken  the  ten  thousand  pounds,  which  he 
left  her  by  his  will,  when  he  had  so  many  poor  relations 
starving  in  Staffordshire.  I  think  she  is  worth  a  million — 
80  what  she  wanted  the  fellow's  pittance  for  I  don't  know. 
She  has  a  silver  statue  of  the  villain  brought  to  her  dinner 
table  every  day — as  the  Eg^jitians  had  a  skeleton — to  re- 
mind her,  I  suppose,  of  hell.  Yet  I  wish  she  hadn't  con- 
nected their  names  together  on  that  filthy  marble  in  the 
Abbey.  Oh,  that  John  Churchill  could  come  back  to  earth 
but  for  an  hour — then  would  rare  changes  be  seen  and 
heard  of.  Here  is  another  Duchess  just  as  mad,  Kitty 
Hyde  of  Queensbury,  followed  by  her  literarj'^  lackey,  Jack 
Gaj',  who  has  grown  corpulent  on  his  Beggar's  Opera 
profit,  and  his  South  Sea  robberies.  Doesn't  this  seem 
to  you  the  age  when  rapscallions  rise  out  of  the  vilest 
dunghills  ?  We  have  for  our  Apollo,  little  Pope,  the  linen 
draper ;  here  is  Gay,  whose  father  was  a  mercer,  and  who 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     413 

was  himself  a  mercer's  shop-boy.  Mat  Prior,  a  tapster, — 
and  so  on  forever.  Our  great  people  find  their  aceount  in 
patronizing  these  maggots  and  giving  them  pensions  for 
unlimited  praise.  Walpole  is  supported  by  some  dozens 
of  the  vilest  wretches  that  ever  crept  about  the  lowest 
corners  of  Parnassas.  The  Tories  first  called  this  spawn 
of  vipers  into  being,  and  now  the  Whigs  emulate  their 
example.  We  have  for  poet-laureate  a  common  pander  to 
the  nobility,  (I  smiled  at  hearing  this  allusion  to  my  old 
friend  Colley,)  and  we  have  for  Premier  a  man  who  behaves 
before  all  as  if  virtue  were  a  farce,  and  decency  of  speech 
and  manner  a  hypocritical  pretence." 

In  this  way  the  old  woman  went  on  blending  strange 
shrewdness  with  the  most  cutting  sarcasm,  and  rivetting 
me  by  her  wit  and  bitterness — for  there  was  something 
singularly  congenial  in  our  tempers;  both  being  misan- 
thropical, from  the  best  of  all  reasons,  I  suppose,  a  wretched 
experience  of  the  world.  Whatever  ga3'ety  I  brought  with 
me  into  the  Opera  House  departed  wholly.  I  looked  round 
and  felt  as  if  I  could  pierce  under  each  disguise — and  what 
I  saw  there  presented  nothing  to  remove  ra^'  sadness.  I 
fell  into  a  reverie  on  my  own  desolate  position;  desolate, 
because  I  would  not  bind  my  soul  in  fetters,  and  crawl  at 
the  feet  of  a  man  who  was  a  father  but  in  name,  and  had 
much  less  feeling  for  me  than  for  one  of  the  guineas  that 
he  adored.     My  companion  observed  me. 

"Come,"  said  she,  "Master  Jackanapes,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  This  is  no  place  for  meditation.  You  look 
like  Marius  amid  the  ruins  of  Carthage." 

"And  if  I  do,  am  I  not  amid  more  melancholy  ruins 
still — the  ruins  of  human  souls,  utterly  destroyed  by  vice!" 

"Do  you  see  that  man  that  walks  like  a  tongs — he  is  all 
legs  and  scarcely  any  head.  I  know  him  through  his  vain 
disguise.  The  Venetian  Senator's  robe  was  never  on  a 
moi-e  unsuitable  body.     That  is  Neddy  Harley,  son  to  the 


414     EDWABD  WORTLBY  MONTAOU. 

falsest  varlet  I  ever  knew.  His  father  and  a  slut  named 
Hill  (she  is  now  Abigail  Masham,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  saw  her  here)  conspired  together  to  get  old  Queen 
Anne  wholly  into  their  power,  and  the^'^  did  so,  by  poison- 
ing her  mind  against  her  only  true  friend  in  the  world,  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough.  They  stole  in  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  and  night;  and  when  the  poor  woman  was  heated  with 
brandy,  they  got  her  to  pledge  herself  to  the  most  absurd 
projects — not  the  vainest  of  which  was  a  trick  to  bring 
back  the  Pretender.  When  the  old  king  was  on  his  death- 
bed at  Rome,  some  of  the  Jacobites  got  around  him  and 
made  him  write  a  letter  to  his  daughter,  prajdng  that  if 
she  did  not  deliver  over  the  throne  to  her  brother,  she  might 
die  childless,  and  must  expect  his  bitterest  curse.  This 
so  frightened  Queen  Anne,  whose  nerves  were  weakened 
by  repeated  drams,  and  was  besides  so  singularly  borne 
out  by  the  successive  deaths  of  all  her  children,  that  she 
was  read}-  to  consent  to  any  thing,  and  the  Tories  here  had 
all  prepared,  even  to  the  proclamation  of  the  Pretender 
himself,  in  St.  Paul's  church-yard,  when  the  poor  woman 
was  suddenly  taken  off,  and  the  chief  rogues  made  their 
escape  to  France.  Had  Bolingbroke  remained,  he  must 
have  figured  on  Tower  Hill,  as  Harley,  to  save  himself,  had 
given  up  all  his  papers  to  the  new  ministry,  and  sacrificed 
his  best  friend,  Bishop  Atterbury,  who  was  obliged  to  fly 
also.  This  treachery  was  in  keeping  with  all  the  scoun- 
drel's doings — though  I  never  will  forgive  Walpole  for  not 
having  shipped  off  Mrs.  Abigail  to  the  colonies.  She  would 
have  made  a  good  slave-driver,  being  false,  cruel  and  cun- 
ning as  the  snake  that  deceived  our  poor  mother  in  Para- 
dise. She  is  now  a  peeress,  and  figures  grandly  among  the 
Lord's  anointed.  Thus  is  history  made.  For  this  sly, 
worthless  waiting  woman  elevated  Harley  to  the  Govern- 
ment of  England,  who  then  devised  a  scheme  that  might 
have  changed  the  fortune  of  the  world,  and  influenced  the 


EDWARD     WORTLBT    MONTAQtT.  415 

fete  of  unborn  generations  for  the  next  thonsand  years; 
and  Walpole  now  occupies  the  same  place,  wholly  through 
his  sister,  Dolly  Walpole,  who  was  the  first  wife  of  that 
good-looking  fool,  Townshend,  having  by  the  rarest  acci- 
dent escaped  being  the  open  and  avowed  mistress  of  the 
Marquis  of  Wharton.  Ah!  boy,  I  could  tell  you  such 
things.  But  the  profane  many  never  know  these  matters, 
and  think  every  thing  ministerial  is  grand,  and  great,  and 
noble,  and  elevated.  For  my  own  part,  I  believe  history  is 
made  up  of  the  basest  of  all  materials,  though  of  course 
they  are  finely  culled  over  to  deceive  the  unthinking  public, 
who  are  all  born  slaves,  and  ever  keep  themselves  so  by 
their  ignorance,  passion,  and  prejudice.  There  is  Fox, 
whose  father  was  a  lackey  or  a  ^room,  I  don't  know  which. 
He  spends  all  his  time  at  hazard,  and  is  nursed  with  every 
private  vice — yet  I  have  no  doubt  if  he  can  steal  my  goose 
he  will  one  day  be  Prime  Minister.  He  certainly  tries 
hard  to  do  it — but  I  will  prevent  him  if  I  can."  To  my 
amazement  she  went  up  to  the  young  man,  since  so  cele- 
brated as  Lord  Holland,  and  cried  out,  "  Charley,  Charley, 
what  brings  you  here  ?  You  should  have  been  at  the  gaming 
table,  and  when  were  you  last  in  a  sponging  house  ?" 

The  old  woman  began  to  muse. 

"Boy,"  said  she,  "you  ought  to  be  a  poet.  Do  you  re- 
member Dryden's  lines?"  and  with  melancholy  emphasis 
she  whispered  into  my  ear — 

"When  I  consider  life,  'tis  aU  a  cheat. 
Yet  fooled  with  hope,  men  favor  the  deceit. 
Trust  on,  and  thinlt  to-morrow  will  repay  ; 
To-morrow's  falser  than  the  former  day  ; 
Iiles  more ;  and  when  it  says  we  shall  bo  blest 
With  some  new  joy,  cuts  off  what  we  possest. 
Strange  cozenage !  none  would  live  past  years  again, 
Yet  all  hope  pleasure  In  what  still  remain, 
And  from  the  dregs  of  life  think  to  receive 
What  the  first  sprightly  running  could  not  giTO.** 

Several  persons  now  came  up  to  my  companion,  and 


4^  EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAGTT. 

taking  her  for  the  Sibyl  she  appeared,  requested  her  to  tell 
their  fortunes.  She  seemed  nothing  loth,  but  first  of  all 
requested  her  hand  to  be  crossed  with  gold.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  this.  Among  them  I  recognized  Lord  Hervey, 
Pulteney  and  Lady  Mary  herself.  Even  the  Prince  of 
Wales  approached  and  seemed  half  inclined  to  consult  her. 
But  she  solicited  none.  To  Lord  Hervey  she  said,  "Ah! 
you  couldn't  sell  your  wife — I  pity  you;  but  Walpole 
wants  her,  and  he  will  do  as  much  for  you  as  the  King." 
To  Pulteney,  "  When  you  fence  with  Walpole,  aim  at  his 
liver,  he  has  no  heart.  Don't  let  him  escape  like  Sporus." 
To  Young,  who  ventured  to  accost  her,  she  merely  said, 
"Begone,  Caiaphas."  To  Lady  Mary,  "Woman,  where  is 
thy  son?"  Moll  Skerret  herself  came  laughing  up,  and 
said,  "Gypsy,  you  know  fortunes — what  is  mine?"  The 
old  woman  fixed  a  glance  of  deep  hate  at  her.  "To  rise 
from  cinderwench  to  concubine,  and  from  concubine  to — 
countess  I  suppose." 

A  yell  of  rage  broke  out  from  the  virtuous  tribe  of  flat- 
terers. One  rushed  forward,  and  would,  I  think,  have 
struck  the  old  woman,  when  I  threw  myself  in  front  of  her, 
but  ere  any  thing  decisive  could  occur,  some  half  dozen 
persons  flung  themselves  between  us,  and  prevented  vio- 
lence. Whetlier  they  did  so  by  accident,  or  were  stationed 
round  her  by  design,  I  could  not  guess.  The  lion  spirit  of 
the  old  woman  negatives  the  last  supposition;  but  this 
lucky  interposition  makes  it  not  unlikely.  There  was  a 
noise;  the  great  Heidegger  himself  came  forward  and  in- 
terfered ;  and  even  then  I  feared  it  would  fare  but  badly 
with  the  Sibyl,  for  he  beckoned  to  a  soldier  who  was  on 
duty,  when  a  person  came  close  and  whispered  something 
into  his  ear,  at  which  he  trembled,  turned  pale,  and  with  the 
most  submissive  air  bowed  to  the  old  woman,  saying — 

"  My  lords,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  here  has  been  some 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      417 

mistake;  I  can  suffer  no  violence;  let  the  music  play  up 
and  the  dances  recommence." 

The  crowd  separated,  a  gaper  or  two  still,  including  Jack 
Froth  well,  who  muttered  "damme,"  remained,  and  the  old 
woman  drew  me  to  her  side. 

"Boy,"  she  said,  "you  are  just  beginning  your  career; 
hear  the  words  of  one  who  must  soon  leave  it.  To  persons 
like  you  earth  appears  a  sort  of  paradise — to  me  it  shows 
itself  in  the  colors  of  hell.  When  I  was  at  your  time  of 
life,  I  thought  all  men  good  and  all  women  true ;  I  went 
into  the  world  with  a  frank  open  heart  and  hand.  I  would 
have  gone  a  hundred  miles  to  serve  any  one  who  needed 
service,  and  I  would  have  fearlessl}'^  asked  the  same  kind- 
ness from  another  for  myself,  so  great  was  my  confidence 
in  human  nature.  I  have  seen  life  in  all  ranks  and  orders ; 
I  have  mixed  in  courts  and  moved  in  cottages.  There  is 
no  phase  in  human  existence  that  is  to  me  a  sealed  book. 
I  have  had  children  and  they  have  deserted  and  betrayed 
me;  I  have  had  friends,  and  they  have  abandoned  me;  I 
have  had  bosom  intimates,  and  they  have  proved  false  and 
hollow;  I  never  knew  but  one  man  who  was  steadfast  to 
me,  and  he  was — my  husband.  I  have  had  every  thing  that 
man  desires  or  woman  covets,  health,  power,  treasure,  fame. 
Yet  with  all  these  it  is  my  fixed  conviction  that  we  are 
every  one  of  us  in  hell  at  this  moment;  that  this  life  is  a 
place  of  punishment  for  our  crimes;  tliat  it  is  really  and 
truly  no  other  locality  than  hell  itself,  and  we  are  demons 
all,  who  find  our  joy  in  persecuting  each  other." 

"A  glorious  theory,  madam,"  I  said,  "to  teach  to  one 
like  me.  Yet  I  confess  my  own  brief  experience  goes  a 
great  way  to  confirm  it." 

"When  you  have  lived  to  my  years  you  will  hold  it  as  an 
article  of  faith,  a  great  deal  more  positively  than  any  one 
of  our  thirty-nine  or  forty  solemn  follies.  For  these  in  a 
i 


418      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

great  measure  have  been  invented  by  wicked  bishops  and 
doctors  to  keep  themselves  aloft,  and  to  bind  down  the 
multitude  below;  but  that  which  I  feel  is  the  spontaneous 
growth  of  wisdom  itself  within  the  heart,  and  if  the  whole 
world  of  thinkers  were  canvassed  and  polled,  the  great  ma- 
jority of  them  would  confess  the  truth  of  what  I  have  said. 
But  amid  the  world  of  fools,  the  world  of  thinkers  is  lost. 
I  remember  I  once  asked  Lord  Shaftesbury  what  in  his 
opinion  was  the  true  religion  ?  He  answered,  '  Madam,  men 
of  sense  are  all  of  one  religion.'  I  then  pressed  him,  '  Pray, 
my  lord,  what  religion  may  that  be?'  'Madam,'  he  replied, 
*men  of  sense  never  tell.'  Thus  he  left  me  to  infer  that  the 
only  religion  that  can  be  true  is  that  which  is  the  offshoot 
of  a  man's  own  wisdom,  and  is  not  suggested  to  him  by 
creeds,  or  liturgies,  or  praj'er  books,  where  we  are  taught 
things  by  rote,  as  if  God  were  a  schoolmaster  who  could 
be  bribed  by  our  proficiency  in  learning  ABC.  This  is 
not  so — there  will  come  a  day  when  you  will  remember 
these  words  and  acknowledge  them  in  your  heart  to  be 
true  as  gospel." 

She  left  me.  I  followed  her  at  some  distance,  and  when 
I  saw  her  get  into  a  magnificent  chair,  with  the  Churchill 
arms  and  a  ducal  coronet,  I  knew  that  I  had  been  talking 
to  Sarah,  Duchess  of  Marlborough. 

I  wandered  listlessly  about.  The  place  with  all  its. 
crowds  now  seemed  melancholy  and  miserable.  I  sought 
in  vain  for  Fielding,  whose  volatile  spirits  would,  I  hoped, 
rouse  me  from  deep  despondency.  Though  I  searched 
minutely,  I  could  not  discover  him.  Two  figures  in  close 
conversation  now  attracted  my  attention.  They  were  so 
deeply  absorbed  that  surrounding  objects  seemed  to  make 
no  impress  on  them.  In  one  I  recognized  Lord  Hervey; 
the  other,  in  his  outlines,  showed  all  the  daring  reckless- 
ness of  Dom  Balthazar.  He  was  attired  as  a  bravo — a 
very  appropriate  dress,  if  it  were  the  same.    I  was  impelled 


BDWABD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.     419 

towards  them,  yet  I  gradually  came  near  so  as  not  to 
attract  notice.  They  were  seated  at  a  small  table  near 
one  of  the  pillars.  I  thought  it  no  breach  of  honor  to  get 
within  earshot.  If  they  ^ere  plotting  against  me  or  Fran- 
cesca,  it  became  in  truth  my  duty  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  their  devices;  but  the  ever  moving  crowd  wholly  pre- 
vented me.  I  could  hear  a  word  now  and  then  from  Dom 
Balthazar,  who  was  evidently  under  the  influence  of  wine; 
his  companion,  more  cautious,  spoke  in  so  low  a  tone  as 
to  be  inaudible  to  me.  There  seemed  to  be  some  alterca- 
tion. The  lord  was  evidently  angry  at  the  appearance  of 
his  confederate  in  such  a  place.  I  could  see  that  the  latter 
chafed  under  his  remonstrances,  but  he  was  not  a  mau  to 
yield  tamely.    At  length  he  said,  fiercely — 

"I  came  here  because  I  could  find  you  nowhere  else. 
You  have  been  denied  to  me  at  your  door  twenty  times. 
I  cannot  and  will  not  go  to  Spain  without  money.  Money 
I  want;  money  I'll  have.  What  hinders  me  this  moment 
from  rising  up  before  all  this  company  and  telling  them 
that  the  true  owner  of  certain  estates  is  now  a  prisoner 
in—" 

My  sense  of  hearing  was  now  wound  up  to  the  extreme 
point,  but  as  the  bravo  concluded  his  speech  he  looked 
warily  about  him,  and  whispered  the  final  word  into  his 
companion's  ear.  The  latter  started.  "Come,"  said  he, 
"come  with  me."  And  they  left  the  place.  I  dared  not 
follow.  With  an  aching  heart  I  left  the  Opera  House. 
"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  in  Spain  she  is.  Akiba  was  right.  The 
airy  vision  that  I  saw  did  not  deceive  me.  Let  me  seek 
her  without  delay.  Let  me  at  least  fly  from  this  land  of 
villains,  and  in  sequestered  nature  seek  with  her,  its  heav- 
enly child,  the  happiness  which  belongs  not  to  these  worn- 
out  and  wretched  communities.  Why  do  I  linger  any 
longer  here  ?    I  will  seek  her  to  the  world's  end,  and  if  I 


420     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

fail  or  die  in  the  pursuit,  I  shall  have  at  least  failed  nobly, 
and  perish  without  feeling  that  I  have  misused  m}'  life." 

I  scarcely  know  where  I  passed  that  night.  I  meditated 
on  my  proceedings,  and  arranged  my  future  course.  Fran- 
cesca,  if  carried  to  Spain,  had  without  doul)t  been  con- 
ve3'ed  through  France.  This  was  a  journey  which,  in  my 
present  condition,  I  could  scarcely  make.  A  sea-vo3'age 
to  the  Peninsula  seemed  to  me,  therefore,  the  only  practical 
mode  of  getting  there;  this  would  cost  me  scarcely  any 
thing.  I  hurried  to  the  city,  and  having  parted  with  my 
fine  clothes  to  one  of  that  kind  and  benevolent  confrater- 
nity who  had  assisted  my  cousin  Fielding,  I  found  mj'self 
with  a  few  guineas  in  my  pocket,  and  an  attire  suitable  to 
the  condition  which  I  assumed.  I  made  inquiries  among 
the  shipping,  and  soon  found  one  that  was  ready  to  sail. 
She  was  bound  for  Bilboa.  I  entered  mj'^self  on  board  as  a 
common  sailor,  and  before  night  was  ploughing  the  dark 
waters. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

Oh  I  with  what  fierce  delight  I  was  again  free.  I  turned 
my  back  on  London — that  vast  metropolis  of  guilt  and 
shame,  infamy  and  falsehood,  and  was  once  more  a  denizen 
of  open  loving  nature ;  gazing  on  her  skies,  borne  over  her 
waters,  floating,  as  it  were,  like  an  eagle  on  her  mighty 
winds.  But  for  the  branded  agonj;^  on  my  soul,  I  should 
have  been  happy ;  even  as  it  was,  I  felt  a  rapture  such  as  I 
had  not  experienced  since  my  sojourn  among  the  dark 
Galore  of  the  tents.  Home,  friends,  kindred,  all  fare  veil; 
I  care  not  if  it  be  forever.  I  am  alone  on  the  dark  ocean — 
alone  with  heaven  and  my  thoughts;  the  intrigues,  con- 
tamination, vain,  insipid  joys,  and  vainer  strifes  and  enmi- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     421 

ties  of  the  educated  crowd,  vanishing  away  like  fogs  or 
frenzies,  forgotten  or  despised  by  one  who  longs  to  be  a 
Man.  What  though  I  am  poor,  a  vagabond,  and  unknown, 
still,  have  I  not  this  divine  celestial  arch  of  beauty ;  now 
sapphire  blue,  now  silvered  with  dappled  cloudlets;  now 
burnished  with  beaming  stars ;  now  golden  with  the  splen- 
dors of  the  rising  or  descending  sun ;  have  I  not  mountain, 
ocean,  vale,  and  river;  and  glorious  forest  and  fragrant 
garden,  to  be  the  solace  of  my  soul,  and  to  companion  it 
with  sublime  associations  ?  And  having  these,  what  can 
there  be  of  merely  human  mechanism  I  need  ?  And  my 
heart  answered  nought,  nought ;  and  I  was  content. 

Our  ship  floated  on  before  a  favoring  breeze;  the  sun 
gleamed  upon  the  ocean  all  around  us,  and  clothed  it  with 
a  living  light ;  the  waves  rose  up,  and  on  their  white  rolling 
crests  I  saw  sj^mbolized  that  dashing  liberty  for  which  I 
had  pined  so  long ;  the  sails  swelled,  the  ropes  rattled,  we 
seemed  bounding  over  the  mighty  element  with  pride  and 
joyousness,  and  the  elastic  movement  of  the  vessel  com- 
municated a  portion  of  its  own  buoyancy  to  my  heart,  and 
made  it  for  a  while  forget.  An  angelic  vision  methought 
glittered  over  the  surging  prow — more  heavenly-fair  unto 
my  soul  than  to  the  weary,  hopeless  wanderer  in  the  desert, 
the  well-known  star  that  leads  him  homeward  from  despair 
— ^the  vision  of  my  lost,  my  loved  Francesca,  who,  I  was 
persuaded,  even  now  felt  as  if  sympathetically,  an  instinc- 
tive dream  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  rescue  her.  In  the 
day  I  saw  it  like  a  glittering  halo — in  the  night  also  it  was 
there,  and  it  outshone  the  stellar  glory  of  the  Heavens. 
"  Yes,  Francesca,"  I  cried  out,  "  I  am  on  my  way  to  free  tliee 
— ^to  break  thy  chains,  and  clasp  thee  to  this  heart  that 
beats  only  for  thee.  Lift  up  thy  prayers,  O  holy  one  of 
my  hopes,  and  let  them  ascend  before  the  Supreme,  that 
speedily  the  hour  may  come  which  shall  witness  once  again 
the  blending  of  our  souls  in  one." 
27 


422  EDWARD    WOBTLBT     MONTAGU. 

On,  on,  and  we  sped  onward,  nor  did  the  blessed  wind 
abate  once  until  we  reached  that  noble  cape,  and  anchored 
in  the  port.  What  incidents  occurred  throughout  the 
voyage — if  indeed  there  were  any — I  have  long  forgotten. 
I  went  through  the  easy  duties  of  my  place — for  the  wind 
made  the  voj^age  more  like  a  bird's  flight  than  any  thing 
else  that  I  can  think  of — I  mingled  I  suppose  with  the 
other  sailors,  and  obeyed  the  captain's  (Tders  when  they 
were  given.  But  nothing  of  these  do  I  recollect.  The 
whole  voyage  is  a  blank  on  my  mind.  I  was  in  the  land 
of  dreams  all  the  while, — and  they  were  dreams  brightened 
with  youthful  hope  and  smiling  expectation.  Whether  I 
slept  on  deck  or  below,  or  how  many  days  we  sailed,  or 
whether  we  saw  other  ships,  or  what  was  done  or  said  by 
any  one,  I  have  wholly  forgotten.  I  remember  only  the 
aspect  of  the  ocean,  the  brightness  of  the  heavens,  the 
grand  loveliness  of  sea  and  sky,  the  arrow-like  motion  of 
our  good  ship,  and  the  bound  of  my  heart  as  I  saw  the 
distant  Spanish  mountains.  I  went  on  shore.  Of  the  lan- 
guage I  knew  nothing.  To  obtain  a  knowledge  of  it  was 
indispensable.  I  lost  no  time,  but  proceeding  to  the  nearest 
convent,  I  knocked  at  the  gate,  and  in  some  way  commu- 
nicated my  wish  to  see  the  superior.  He  came — a  tall  man 
with  a  bald  brow ;  austere,  dark,  grave,  cold,  and  hard  as  a 
stone ;  selfishness  and  command  graven  in  every  line  and 
feature.  I  accosted  him  in  Latin,  and  told  him  I  was  an 
Englishman,  ignorant  of  the  language,  but  anxious  to  learn 
it;  a  student  bent  on  theological  knowledge,  unable  at 
present  to  pay  for  it ;  a  wanderer  and  an  exile  with  a  sol- 
emn duty  to  perform,  which  could  hardly  be  achieved,  un- 
less I  were  permitted  to  sojourn  there,  or  in  some  similar 
establishment  for  a  short  period.  The  Abbot  listened 
gravely ;  and  though  I  could  perceive  that  his  surprise  was 
great,  still  only  a  practised  observer  like  myself  could 
penetrate  that  brazen  mask — his  face.    He  did  not  speak 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     423 

for  some  time,  but  he  scanned  me  with  a  searching  glance 
— a  glance  of  deep  suspicion,  though  he  endeavored  to  hide 
it.  At  length  he  seemed  satisfied  that  I  had  no  ill-design. 
He  asked  me  my  name  ?  I  told  him.  My  rank  ? — I  told 
him  freely.  My  religion  ?— rl  answered  that  I  had  been 
bred  a  Protestant,  but  that  I  had  long  had  doubts,  and 
here  perhaps  they  could  be  solved.  This  last  answer  de- 
cided him.  The  Church  of  Rome  will  run  any  risk  to  gain 
a  convert.  I  was  besides  an  Englishman — and  to  save  the 
soul  of  one  of  that  wealthy  island  has  always  been  a  favor- 
ite pursuit  with  the  astute  soldiers  of  the  Church  of  Peter. 
It  almost  always  brings  gold  into  their  coffers — it  certainly 
tends  to  pave  the  way  for  the  restoration  of  that  long-lost 
land  to  its  true  and  ancient  lord — the  Pope. 

I  stayed  here  six  month's,  during  which  I  learned  the 
language  perfectly.  How  exquisitely  beautiful  was  this 
monastic  solitude!  For  the  first  week  I  experienced  only 
piety,  solitary  thought,  purity  and  devotion — the  silver 
light  of  philosophic  calm.  In  a  little  while  the  true  char- 
acter of  these  people  was  revealed.  The  fiery  passions 
which  are  in  the  hearts  of  all  Spaniards  broke  forth ;  tlie 
most  terrible  feud  became  displayed.  The  Abbot  was  a 
tyrant  whose  sway  was  undisputed  and  indisputable.  The 
Shah  of  Persia,  the  Grand  Mogul,  owned  not  more  absolute 
dominion  than  he.  The  brethren  bowed  before  him  in 
fear;  the  slightest  infringement  of  his  orders  entailed  per- 
secution and  imprisonment  on  the  unhappy  transgressor. 
The  very  magnitude  of  his  power  destroyed  and  debased 
him ;  it  gave  full  force  to  all  his  worst  passions,  and  he 
surrendered  himself  wholly  to  their  dominion.  His  frown 
■was  like  death ;  his  smile  was  life  to  these  poor  wretches. 
Thus  to  win  the  second,  and  to  avoid  the  first,  became  the 
sole  struggle  of  their  minds.  They  hated  each  other  with 
an  inveterate  fury;  those  who  were  out  of  favor,  because 
of  envy;  those  who  were  in  favor,  because  they  dared  not 


424     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

do  otherwise  than  hate  those  whom  the  Abbot  disliked.  The 
whole  atmosphere  that  externally  seemed  peace,  serenity, 
sunshine,  holiness  and  love,  was  charged  with  falsehood, 
treachery,  dark  suspicion,  base  insinuation,  terror,  anger, 
and  revenge.  The  air  at  times  has  seemed  to  me  as  if 
thronged  with  invisible  serpents  exhaling  venom.  In  our 
chapel,  when  the  organ  pealed  and  the  hymns  arose,  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  living  in  a  den  of  snakes,  whose  every  breath 
was  fire  and  poison  and  malignity. 

I  was  put  under  the  tutelage  of  one  Antonio,  a  middle- 
aged  monk,  with  fraud  and  astuteness  deeply  marked  in 
every  lineament.  Oil  was  not  more  smooth,  honey  was 
not  more  sweet  than  were  the  tones  of  his  voice — they 
trickled  softly  into  the  ear  like  nectar  from  the  cup  of 
Hebe  when  she  served  the  laughing  gods.  But  this  voice 
was  not  the  echo  or  the  image  of  the  speaker's  soul,  as 
most  voices  are — it  was  not  a  true  or  natural  voice,  but  a 
false,  feigned,  and  fraudulent  one,  assumed  for  a  purpose 
and  admirably  disguised.  There  were  moments  when  the 
real  tones  penetrated  through  that  deceitful  mouth,  when 
he  was  off  his  guard  as  it  were ;  and  he  either  remembered 
not  his  part,  or  was  overmastered  by  some  strong  passion. 
Then,  indeed,  the  horrid  sound  was  heard,  yet  only  faintly 
— but  it  was  for  the  time  the  yelp  of  some  savage  creature 
— cruel,  cowardly,  bloodthirsty,  and  sneaking;  a  voice 
that  made  your  nerves  thrill;  that  jarred  against  your 
heart-strings ;  that  gave  you  a  sensation  as  of  something 
harsh,  rough  and  cold,  against  which  all  your  senses  had 
an  antipathy.  Even  he  himself  seemed  startled  by  it,  as  if 
he  had  heard  some  demon's  whisper,  for  he  immediately 
looked  abashed,  and  glided,  though  not  without  effort,  into 
his  usual  mellifluous  accent,  seeking  hard  to  hide  his  awk- 
wardness and  confusion.  But  on  these  occasions  his  e3'e 
scanned  you  with  suspicion ;  you  could  see  its  furtive  light 
beneath  his  downcast  modest  lids,  as  if  he  sought  to  pene- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU.     425 

trate  your  very  being  and  find  out  whether  that  tone  so 
marked,  yet  so  unusual,  had  awakened  feelings  within  you 
such  as  he  wished  to  slumber.  For  a  whole  hour  I  have 
observed  him  watching  me  after  one  of  these  chance  ebulli- 
tions of  his  natural  essence;  and  though  I  took  good  care 
to  appear  unsuspicious,  yet  I  felt  during  the  whole  period 
as  if  I  were  walking  in  a  forest  while  I  knew  that  a  hyena 
tracked  my  footsteps. 

He  took  extraordinary  pains  to  indoctrinate  me  in  the 
language,  and  spared  no  labor  to  convert  me  to  the  true 
faith.  He  brought  before  my  eyes  the  long  and  glorious 
line  of  Pontiffs  from  Peter  to  Clement,  an  unbroken  suc- 
cession of  scholars  of  Jesus,  such  as  no  other  creed  could 
boast  of.  Here  my  lessons  under  Akiba  came  to  my  aid ; 
and  I  at  once  confuted  him  by  the  far  more  ancient  and 
illustrious  line  of  the  Grand  Lama,  which — an  elective  pon- 
tificate— has  continued  in  unbroken  succession  for  upwards 
of  four  thousand  years,  and  has  held  unlimited  spiritual 
sway  over  the  greatest  empire  that  the  world  ever  saw. 
Antonio  first  affected  to  deny  this  fact — ^but  the  convent 
was  not  without  a  library — although  it  was  little  resorted 
to,  except  for  schoolmen  like  Sanchez  or  Aquinas,  whose 
lives  were  spent  in  weaving  nets  of  hell  for  human  souls — 
and  when  I  convinced  him  that  I  was  right,  he  merely  re- 
plied by  the  old  argument  that  G(Jd  permits  the  Devil  to 
do  these  things  for  the  purpose  of  trying  the  hearts  of  men. 
When  I  told  him  that  in  my  opinion  this  was  reducing  God 
to  the  level  of  the  Devil  himself,  he  made  me  no  answer, 
but  with  a  well-masked  scowl,  retired  to  his  cell ;  nor  did  I 
again  see  him  for  several  days.  When  he  met  me,  he  made 
no  allusion  to  our  recent  controversy,  but  proceeded  to 
some  other  argument ;  nor  did  he  ever  again  cite  as  con- 
firmatory of  the  holiness  of  his  church  the  historical  proof 
which  had  been  so  suddenly  demolished.  Had  he  been  a 
bungler  in  his  art,  he  would  have  harped  upon  it  again, 


426     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

and  yet  again,  until  I  should  have  grown  hardened  against 
him — but  he  was  a  more  subtle  dialectitian  ;  and  I  always 
observed  that  when  he  was  thoroughlj^  beaten  on  any  one 
point  he  never  again  alluded  to  it — not  confessing  indeed 
that  he  was  so  beaten,  but  hoping  that  I  myself  might  in 
time  furnish  an  argument  in  his  favor,  which  did  not  occur 
to  him  at  the  instant  of  dispute. 

Meanwhile  the  Abbot  afl'ected  to  regard  me  as  a  prodigy 
of  good  sense  and  learning.  He  consulted  me  on  classical 
lore ;  he  sought  my  opinion  on  subjects  of  hist.nrical  inves- 
tigation ;  he  even  professed  to  ask  my  advice  on  abstruse 
questions  of  theology,  and  insinuated  how  great  and  glori- 
ous would  be  my  position  before  the  world  if  I  would  but 
enter  the  church  and  dcA'ote  mj-self  to  her  interests.  Like 
Dom  Balthazar,  he  struck  that  chord  in  m^^  nature  which 
he  fancied  beat  to  ambition — ^but  like  Balthazar,  he  was 
wrong,  for  I  had,  and  have  none.  It  has  often  occurred 
to  me  as  strange,  that  two  men  of  great  discerament  in 
mankind  should  both  have  so  utterly  misjudged  me  as  to 
mistake  for  ambition  my  lordly  feeling  of  independence — 
but  they  certainly  did  make  this  error ;  and  no  two  feel- 
ings as  it  seems  to  me  are  more  opposite.  For  after  the 
most  intimate  knowledge  of  courts,  cabinets  and  camps,  I 
am  convinced  that  what  is  usually  called  ambition  is  a 
dirty,  mean,  sneaking  little  passion,  which  has  no  self- 
respect  at  all,  but  which  perpetually^  debases  itself  in  the 
mire  for  the  purpose  of  some  wretclied  gain ;  despicable  in 
the  eyes  of  the  truly  great,  who  are  scarcely  ever  known  to 
the  world  because  they  so  utterly  despise  it.  The  renowned 
general  at  whose  name  the  nations  are  filled  with  wonder 
owes  probably  his  advancement  to  some  courtezan's  ca- 
price, at  whose  feet  he  has  grovelled  like  a  lap-dog ;  the 
powerful  minister  who  wields  an  empire  and  its  destinies 
has  attained  his  elevation  bj'  humoring  the  foibles  of  some 
artful  menial,  male  or  female,  who  has  the  ear  of  the  Sov* 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     427 

ereign ;  and  the  celebrated  statesman  has  paved  the  way 
to  eminence  by  stooping  to  the  filthiest  rabble,  and  sinking 
below  even  their  level,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  their 
support.  Could  we  but  trace  the  secret  springs  by  which 
men  of  the  most  illustrious  name  have  risen  to  the  most 
exalted  heights,  we  should  hesitate  long  before  we  decided 
whether  the  baseness  of  the  individual,  or  the  folly  of  the 
multitude  who  worshipped  as  a  God  a  very  loathsome 
lickspittle,  were  the  most  worthy  of  surprise.  These 
springs  we  never  shall  have  unveiled,  and  it  is  only  by 
accident  that  glimpses  of  them  are  seen.  It  Is  with  this 
conviction  that  I  look  upon  all  history  as  fable — not  more 
real  than  a  painting,  or  a  dream,  but  used  by  knaves  to 
enslave  asses. 

There  was  a  noble  hall  in  the  convent  paved  with  mar- 
ble, and  wainscotted  with  black  oak,  on  which  were  ranged 
the  full  length  portraits  of  all  the  men  who  had  successively 
filled  the  place  of  Abbot — dark  and  fire-eyed  men,  whose 
looks  seemed  to  penetrate  beneath  their  cowls,  and  to  read 
the  inmost  tablet  of  the  heart.  They  were  in  every  atti- 
tude, from  profound  study  up  to  rapt  devotion ;  and  there 
have  been  nights  when  as  I  paced  this  place  alone,  and  tho 
broken  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  high  windows,  I 
have  half  fancied  they  were  real  pliantoms  congregated 
together,  to  devise  new  schemes  to- move  the  world  at  their 
will.  In  this  hall  the  monks  usually  assembled  when  the 
piou^  meditations  of  the  day  were  over,  and  some  volumes 
of  legends  were  read  and  commented  on  by  each  in  turn 
under  the  supervision  of  the  reverend  superior.  I  had 
heard  and  read  of  the  bacchanalian  revels  which  take  place 
in  convents,  but  here  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind ;  all 
was  gloom,  asceticism,  and  repose,  but  the  passions  that 
lay  hidden  under  this  awful  stillness  were  only  the  more 
terrible  for  being  repressed.  They  were  a  large  community 
—and  properly  speaking,  I  had  no  right  to  be  one  among 


428  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MO  NT  AG  TT. 

them ;  but  an  exception  was  made  in  my  favor;  for  I  have 
no  doubt  the  Abbot  had  not  failed  to  ascertain  that  I  was 
a  man  of  rank  and  great  expectations ;  and  m}^  fliglit  from 
home  was  considered  only  one  of  the  eccentric  aberrations 
in  which  the  best  regulated  Englishmen  indulge.  I  was 
treated  no  longer  like  a  dependent  living  almost  on  alms, 
but  as  a  visitor  who  amused  his  fancy  or  his  leisure  by 
assuming  a  species  of  odd  disguise ;  and  every  little  art 
was  brought  into  play  which  could  either  attract  my  will 
or  secure  my  judgment.  Every  thing  I  beheld  seemed 
grave,  decorous,  hol}^ ;  and  the  Abbot  himself  was  repre- 
sented to  me  as  a  sort  of  sainted  being  by  those  who  I  knew 
detested  him  as  a  fiend. 

In  my  controversial  discussions  with  Antonio,  which 
were  sometimes  carried  on  in  the  presence  of  some  of  the 
other  monks,  there  was  one  brother  Juan,  who  never  ven- 
tured to  take  part  in  any  of  them,  but  who  seemed  to  pay 
the  profoundest  attention  to  all  that  was  said,  and  to  re- 
gard myself  with  great  interest.  He  was  a  young  man, 
not  probably  five  and  twenty,  with  a  mild,  benign  expres- 
sion, a  noble  forehead,  and  a  proud  eye,  but  the  fervor  of 
the  last  he  strove  to  subdue  with  all  his  strength.  He  was 
silent,  modest,  and  gentle ;  and  I  was  very  much  pleased 
with  him.  In  a  short  time  a  sort  of  acquaintance  sprang 
up;  my  teacher  saw  that  I  yearned  to  the  young  man,  and 
he  gave  him  permission  to  come  occasionally  to  my  cell 
and  enlighten  me  on  some  points  of  Catholic  faith.  By 
degrees  our  meetings  became  so  frequent  that  not  a  day 
passed  in  which  we  did  not  spend  some  time  together. 
The  more  I  saw  of  him,  the  more  I  loved  him.  He  ap- 
peared to  possess  all  the  virtues  of  a  man,  and  all  the  sweet 
softness  of  a  woman.  We  discoursed  on  a  variety  of  sub- 
jects, and  I  was  amazed  to  find  him  sceptical  on  many 
points  which  our  reverend  Abbot  would  have  regarded  as 
among  the  main  essentials  of  salvation.      He  was  the 


EDWABD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU,     429 

younger  son  of  a  noble  house,  and  had  been  thnist  into 
this  place  solely  against  his  will,  to  swell  the  wealth  of  an 
elder  brother,  and  add  another  to  the  innumerable  victims 
whom  the  Church  engages  every  year  in  her  death-enfold- 
ing maw. 

Although  my  senior  in  years,  he  seemed  to  cling  to  me, 
as  a  weaker  plant  will  circle  round  one  that  is  stronger  and 
more  matured.  I  did  not  hesitate  to  admit  him  into  my 
fullest  confidence — ^to  open  my  heart  to  liira  as  to  a  brother ; 
for  although  I  scorn  mankind  in  the  mass,  I  have  never 
done  so  in  detail,  but  have  ever  reposed  trust  in  those 
whom  I  believed  worthy  of  it  from  the  beginning,  exactly 
as  I  have  narrated  it  here;  he  listened  with  intense  inter- 
est, and  there  were  parts  of  it  at  which  he  even  wept.  More 
susceptible  and  passionate  in  soul  than  us  of  nortliern 
climes,  he  was  alternately  moved  with  anger,  indignation, 
and  pity ;  and  he  gave  full  utterance  to  the  promptings  of 
each  emotion  as  it  arose  within.  I  consulted  him  about 
the  means  of  finding  Francesca — but  here  we  were  both 
wholly  at  a  loss.  We  could  not  devise  any  scheme  by 
which  in  broad  Spain,  with  its  innumerable  convents, 
monasteries,  and  abbeys,  we  could  with  safety  say  in  this 
or  that  province  she  was  to  be  found.  To  make  a  pilgrim- 
age from  one  religious  house  to  another  as  I  had  read  that 
the  minstrel  Blondel  did  when  searching  for  his  Master, 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  over  the  castellated  continent, 
seemed  wholly  hopeless,  yet  what  other  course  remained  ? 
or  by  what  other  means  could  she  be  discovered?  And 
thus  might  my  whole  life  pass  ineffectually,  and  the  close 
be  still  clouded  by  despair.  We  consulted  long  and  fre- 
quently, but  without  any  end  gained.  Chance  alone  as  it 
seemed  must  be  relied  on — ^yet  what  a  weak  reliance  ii 
chance ! 

Six  months  had  now  passed,  and  I  was  pressed  to  make 
some  declaration  of  my  faith.    The  conduct  of  my  com- 


430     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU. 

panions  was  nothing;  their  creed  seemed  noble  and  sublime. 
A  most  extraordinary  variety  of  subtle  arguments  had 
been  brought  to  bear  on  my  understanding,  and  being 
young,  and  of  a  romantic  temperament.  Protestantism 
appeared  to  me  in  all  its  chilling  and  prosaic  features, 
while  the  glory  of  the  Roman  church,  half  chivalric,  half 
celestial,  was  presented  in  a  glittering  light  that  excited  a 
powerful  interest  on  my  heart.  I  noticed  that  whenever  I 
consulted,  or  even  hinted  to  Juan  a  thought  of  change,  his 
countenance  alwaj's  fell,  and  his  silence  was  like  an  icy 
wind  on  my  budding  hopes.  He  longed  to  speak,  yet  he 
was  evidently  afraid.  His  looks  were  wary  and  suspicious ; 
he  seemed  to  act  as  if  the  very  stones  had  ears.  I  have 
often  seen  him  beckon  me  to  silence,  and  walk  stealthily 
towards  a  picture  behind  which  he  looked,  as  if  he  half 
expected  to  discover  some  one  hidden  there ;  he  has  done 
the  same  in  the  evening  to  a  large  reading-desk,  when  the 
dark  vesper  shadows  hover  over  the  vast  hall,  and  listened 
as  if  he  heard  the  tread  of  some  advancing  footstep,  whose 
owner  longed  to  betray  him  to  destruction.  One  of  the 
monks  suddenly  disappeared.  Had  he  escaped  ?  Was  he 
sick  ?  Had  he  gone  on  a  mission  ?  Had  he  died  ?  No 
one  knew ;  no  one  dared  to  ask.  Even  the  eye  questioned 
not  into  the  mystery.  Every  thing  proceeded  as  usual. 
The  Abbot  looked  the  same ;  all  the  brethren  seemed  fig- 
ures of  stone  on  whom  no  outward  circumstance  could 
make  the  least  impression.  I  was  myself  filled  with  a  sort 
of  vague  awe  at  this  strange  incident  in  our  community, 
the  strangest  thing  of  all  being  that  it  excited  no  more 
observation  than  if  a  fly  had  come  and  gone. 

At  length  he  said — 

"  Wortley,  I  can  bear  this  hell  no  longer.  It  is  slowly 
killing  me.  I  had  rather  die  at  once.  I  will  fly  from  this 
place.  I  will  become  a  soldier,  bandit,  beggar — any  thing 
60  long  as  I  can  be  free.    I  am  surrounded  by  spies  and 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     431 

wretches ;  my  every  moment  is  like  Gehenna.  All  this 
holiness  which  is  professed  here  is  but  hypocrisy  of  the 
vilest  kind.  You  have  yourself,  to  some  extent,  seen  it, 
but  never  can  you  dive  into  its  depths  like  one  who  has 
been  born  and  bred  in  this  religion.  You  will  say  this  is 
true  of  all  religions.  Perhaps  it  is.  If  a  religion  has  not 
force  enough  to  make  its  own  professors  pious,  it  can- 
not be  a  thing  from  God.  If  the  theory  which  I  have 
broached  be  sound,  the  consequence  must  be  this ;  avoid 
us,  we  are  not  of  God  but  man.  Princeps  noster  est 
Satanas  ! 

"  If  I  am  to  wait,"  I  answered,  "  until  I  find  a  religion 
which  makes  perfect  men,  I  must  wait  forever.  There  is 
no  creed  that  can  perform  this." 

"  That  is  true ;  I  did  not  maintain  any  such  absurdity. 
I  merely  said,  '  Seek  that  whose  followers  are  least  wicked ;' 
that  is  about  the  superlative  point  to  which  fallen  human 
nature  can  ascend.  Goodness  is  unattainable  by  man.  If 
man  could  be  good,  he  would  not  be  man  at  all,  but  an  angel ; 
he  would  have  no  business  on  earth ;  he  would  be  out  of 
his  proper  sphere.  But  no  man  can  be  good.  All  he  can 
hope  at  the  utmost  is  to  be  least  vicious.  If  you  were 
acquainted  with  all  the  men  and  women  of  Europe,  you 
would  confess  that  of  all  other  peoples  they  are  perhaps 
the  most  vicious  in  existence.  Their  various  systems 
must,  consequently,  be  false.  Observe,  I  do  not  speak  of 
pure  Christianity,  for  that,  as  a  system,  does  not  exist.  It 
lives  in  a  burlesque  of  that  which  Jesus  really  taught. 
Your  form  of  it  is  probably  better  than  ours,  but  after  all, 
the  difference  is  only  slight.  Let  us  depart  together  from 
this  place;  let  us  abandon  Europe  forever;  let  us  pene- 
trate to  the  Orient,  which  God  from  the  beginning  has 
made  the  cradle  of  all  sublime  and  holy  things,  and  judge 
for  ourselves,  before  we  finally  decide  on  a  step  that  is  to 
regulate  our  fate  for  futurity." 


432     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  my  fi'iend,  that  I  hear  this  from 
you  ? — from  you  who  are  a  sworn  member  of  this  cliurch 
and  a  soldier  of  this  community  ?" 

"  Why  should  it  not  be  possible  ?  Why  should  it  be  im- 
possible ?  Think  you  I  have  lived  so  long  and  dared  not 
to  reflect  ?  Think  you  that  my  daily  observation  of  the 
men  by  whom  I  am  surrounded  has  not  produced  seeds  of 
meditation  within  my  mind,  and  that  these  seeds  have  not 
produced  fruit  ?  Yes,  I  am  resolved  to  fLy — if  with  you, 
I  shall  be  happy;  if  without  you,  nevertheless  depart  I 
shall.  If  I  remain  here  I  have  a  home  for  life ;  but  what  a 
home !  My  uncle,  the  Abbot,  will  protect  me ;  will  promote 
me ;  perhaps  even  when  he  departs  I  may  hope  to  govern 
this  communit}'.  But  would  that  make  amends  for  a  life 
misused,  and  for  an  existence  which  is  a  living  lie  betore 
my  Maker?   Wortley,  we  must  part,  or  go  forth  together." 

"  Can  you  then  abandon  your  uncle  ?  He  is  a  wise  man, 
a  powerful  man ;  you  saj'  he  is  kind  to  you.  Perhaps,  in- 
deed, since  your  father  cast  you  in  here,  your  uncle  may 
be  your  only  friend.  Do  you  know  what  the  world  really 
is  ?  Have  you  considered  how  precarious  is  the  life  of  him 
who  Wanders  penniless  ?" 

"  My  uncle  I  Yes,  he  is  wise  and  powerful.  But  know 
you  why  he  is  here  ?  Of  what  use  is  his  wisdom  ?  It  is 
the  cunning  of  the  world — no  more;  and  what  is  that 
before  God  ?  When  I  look  at  him  I  am  the  more  posi- 
tively resolved.  If  the  Church  of  Rome  were  true,  my 
uncle  should  have  swung  on  the  gallows ;  as  it  is,  he  is  one 
of  her  chiefs  and  generals." 

"  Has  he  then  committed  any  crime  that  you  so  distrust 
him,  and  pronounce  so  severe  a  sentence  against  so  near  a 
relation  ? 

"Listen  and  decide.  My  father,  as  you  know,  had  a 
vast  estate.  He  married  at  an  early  age  the  only  daughter 
of  an  opulent  merchant,  who  traded  to  the  East,  and  re- 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      488 

ceived  with  her  an  immense  dowry.  They  lived  at  Toledo, 
in  a  si)lendid  palace.  My  uncle  was  in  the  habit  of  spend- 
ing a  month  or  two  every  year  at  Madrid.  Our  connec- 
tions were  powerful,  and  he  figured  at  court ;  but  he  never 
brought  his  young  wife  there,  nor  did  any  of  his  acquaint- 
ances in  the  capital  know  that  he  was  married.  Among 
those  houses  at  which  he  visited  was  tliat  of  the  Marquis 
of  Montana.  The  marquis  had  a  daughter  as  beautiful  as 
a  young  rose.  An  intimacy  soon  sprang  up  between  her 
and  my  uncle ;  it  was  sanctioned  by  the  father,  and  the 
nuptials  were  fixed.  The  young  wife  at  Toledo  wrote  fre- 
quently to  her  husband,  but  he  sent  her  a  variety  of  ex- 
cuses. At  length  her  father  wrote  to  some  friends  at 
Madrid  to  ascertain  what  business  detained  his  son-in-law 
so  long.  The^y  inquired.  My  uncle  was  sufficiently  emi- 
nent in  the  cajjital  to  have  his  movements  and  his  projects 
easil}' discoverable.  The  father-in-law  was  informed  of  the 
coming  nuptials ;  he  told  his  daughter,  who  was  half  dis- 
tracted. She  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Marquis  of  Montana, 
and  another  to  the  young  lady.  She  did  not  upbraid  her 
husband  in  the  least,  but  simply  informed  them  of  the  facts. 
My  uncle  was,  of  course,  expelled  the  house.  He  returned 
home.  His  wife  was  then  pregnant.  She  received  him 
with  every  demonstration  of  the  most  passionate  attach- 
ment; she  did  not  once  allude  to  what  had  happened,  but 
behaved  in  every  respect  as  if  he  had  been  the  truest  of 
lords.  He  received  all  her  love  in  silence ;  he  sometimes 
smiled  upon  her ;  she  thought  all  was  forgotten.  Her  rela- 
tions vied  with  each  other  in  giving  him  welcome ;  the 
most  sumptuous  feasts  and  entertainments  were  given  to 
honor  his  return.  He  went  to  all,  and  to  every  appear- 
ance was  happy  and  contented.  "When  she  was  about  a 
month  before  her  confinement,  he  got  up  one  morning 
earlier  than  usual,  and  told  her  he  was  about  to  retire  to 
his  devotions ;  be  recommended  her  also  to  seek  her  closet, 


434      BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

and  offer  up  prayers  to  God  for  a  safe  accomplishment  of 
their  mutual  hopes.  She  did  so,  but  in  a  short  time  her 
husband  entered.  He  bore  with  him  various  articles  such 
as  are  used  for  the  funerals  of  persons  of  rank.  Her  heart 
misgave  her ;  she  tremblingly  asked  him  what  he  designed. 
*  To  murder  thee,'  he  said.  '  Now  will  I  repay  thee  for  all 
thy  wickedness ;  now  will  I  have  vengeance  for  the  agonies 
thou  hast  made  me  endure.'  In  vain  she  implored  pardon ; 
in  vain  she  entreated  forgiveness  for  an  offence  which  had 
proceeded  only  from  her  love.  He  was  inexorable,  and 
bid  her  prepare.  Her  maid,  who  slept  in  an  adjoining 
room,  and  overheard  all  that  passed,  rushed  in  and  sought 
to  save  her.  As  he  lifted  the  dagger  she  endeavored  to 
arrest  his  hand ;  but  he  struck  her  down,  and  stabbed  his 
wife  to  the  heart.  '  Die  both,'  he  cried  out,  '  the  jealous 
wife  and  the  eaves-dropping  maid.'  He  lighted  the  tapers, 
he  darkened  the  room,  he  laid  his  wife  upon  her  bed,  and 
went  to  her  father  and  mother.  *  Come,'  said  he,  '  to  a 
little  feast  which  I  have  prepared.'  They  went  with  him ; 
he  led  them  to  the  closet  door,  and,  having  shown  them  in, 
left  them  and  fled.  They  supposed  at  first  it  was  some 
pleasant  device;  but  the  expiring  maid  faintly  informed 
them  of  all,  and  died  ere  she  had  well  concluded  the  dread- 
ful narrative.  My  grand  uncle  is  a  Cardinal,  great  at  St. 
Peter's;  my  uncle  is  here.  The  murder  was  never  re- 
dressed. Can  I  be  happy  under  the  roof  and  eye  of  such 
a  man?" 

I  was  horror-stricken ;  but  before  I  had  time  to  say  a 
word  the  Abbot  himself  appeared  in  the  distance;  he 
moved  gravely  towards  us,  and  with  his  usual  philosophic 
calm.  "  Signor  Montagu,"  said  he,  "  I  have  marked  your 
intimacy  with  my  nephew ;  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  the 
company  of  both  in  my  apartment."  A  cold  thrill  shot 
through  me ;  but  I  knew  not  how  to  act.  I  looked  on  Juan. 
He  was  as  white  as  marble.     Could  it  be  that  we  were  over- 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      435 

heard  ?  It  seemed  impossible.  We  motioned  assent,  and 
followed  the  Abbot,  who  led  the  way  with  sweeping  robe. 
In  a  few  moments  we  were  in  his  room.  He  ordered  wine 
and  fruit ;  the  convent  garden  was  famous  for  the  latter. 
They  were  soon  produced,  and  we  began  to  converse.  But 
a  dark  chain  seemed  thrown  over  my  tongue.  I  could  not 
speak ;  I  could  but  listen.  A  similar  spell  was  on  Juan ; 
but  the  Abbot  shone.  Never  before  had  I  seen  him  so  ele- 
gant ;  never  before  had  his  lip  charmed  with  so  much  wit, 
politeness  and  gay  elegance.  He  was  no  longer  the  grave, 
austere  head  of  a  religious  community;  he  was  the  fine 
gentleman  who  had  mixed  in  courts  and  camps.  He  spoke 
of  his  uncle,  the  Cardinal,  of  his  power  at  the  Vatican ;  his 
liking  for  myself;  and  the  fine  wonders  he  would  do  for 
me  if  I  enrolled  myself  among  his  "  sable  soldiers,"  as  he 
called  the  monks.  I  was  infatuated — spell-bound.  I  for- 
got Francesca ;  I  forgot  every  thing.  I  felt  that  this  was 
the  master  mind.  I  strove  to  resist,  to  defer  eompliance, 
but  my  mind  grew  relaxed ;  I  could  feel  its  energy  slowly 
melt  away  as  the  Abbot's  tongue  poured  forth  its  mani- 
fold treasures.  Was  it  the  wine  ?  Had  it  been  drugged 
by  one  of  those  powerful  soporifics  known  to  the  hierarchy  ? 
I  had  sense  enough,  however,  not  to  pledge  mj'self  at  once; 
in  three  days  I  would  give  him  a  final  answer.  We  parted ; 
the  Abbot  kissed  his  nephew,  and  embraced  myself.  He 
even  attended  us  to  the  door,  and  softly  bade  us  "  Good 
night ;  God  bless  you  both,"  said  he. 

When  we  were  alone,  Juan  grasped  my  hand  convul- 
sively. "Fly,"  said  he,  "let  us  both  fly  at  once.  Our  in- 
terview has  been  overheard.  My  uncle  knows  every  word 
that  we  have  spoken.  This  feast  was  but  a  trick  to  entrap 
you.  Once  you  have  taken  the  irrevocable  vow  you  be- 
come his,  body  and  soul ;  he  will  have  an  absolute  power 
of  life  and  death  over  you.  My  fate  is  sealed.  I  feel  it ;  I 
know  it.    I  have  his  Judas-kiss  upon  my  lips,  and  I  know 


436     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

that  there  is  death  in  that  kiss.  He  would  at  this  moment 
have  ordered  me  to  be  immured  for  life,  but  tliat  he  dreads 
to  lose  you.  Oh  I  Wortley,  what  a  pang  shot  through  me 
this  moment.  Hold  me,  hold  me.  I  faint.  The  wine  has 
overpowered  me.     I  am  a  poor  reveller." 

We  stole  into  the  garden.  By  the  fair  starlight  I  looked 
into  his  face;  it  was  fixed  and  bloodless.  There  was  a 
strange  wild  expression  about  his  eyes,  such  as  I  had  never 
seen  before.  The  air  revived  him  a  little.  We  were  quite 
alone.  He  only  of  all  the  monks  had  a  key  to  this  place. 
It  had  been  given  him  as  a  special  favor  by  the  Abbot. 
We  walked  about  and  concerted  our  plans.  We  crept  softly 
to  our  cells,  and  gathered  up  our  sheets  and  the  few  clothes 
we  had;  the  first  we  twisted  and  tied  together  until  they 
formed  a  rope  capable  of  being  thrown  up  the  high  wall 
which  confined  the  monks  within  the  convent  territory. 
We  searched  in  vain  for  a  hook  to  hold  it  at  the  top,  but 
none  was  to  be  found.  At  last  we  wrenched  one  of  the 
iron  bars  away  from  the  window,  and  with  great  trouble 
bent  it  into  a  half  anchor  shape.  Some  hours  were  passed 
before  this  was  done.  It  was  now  three  o'clock,  and  at 
four  the  convent  bell  usually  rang  to  call  the  monks  to 
their  devotions.  Juan's  excitement  now  grew  dreadful ;  he 
seemed  frightfully  agitated;  he  trembled  all  over;  his  deadly 
paleness  increased.  At  times  I  could  feel  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty he  repressed  a  scream,  for  he  seemed  intensely  ago- 
nized, but  I  supposed  it  was  merely  nervousness.  At 
length  we  got  once  more  into  the  garden.  We  tried  to 
throw  up  the  rope  and  hook,  but  wholly  failed,  although 
we  used  incredible  labor.  At  length  I  got  up  into  a  tree, 
and  with  great  difficulty  flung  the  hook.  It  caught  hold, 
and  the  line  descended  to  the  ground.  Juan  urged  me  to 
mount  first.  I  refused,  but  he  forced  me.  When  I  got  to 
the  top  he  told  me  to  pull  hard,  and  endeavored  to  ascend ; 
but  was  wholly  unable.     In  vain  he  put  forth  his  arms; 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     487 

they  would  not  hold  him ;  they  were  now  too  feeble  to  sup- 
port his  weight.  Securely  fastening  the  hook  to  the  top 
of  the  wall,  I  descended.  I  found  him  on  the  ground, 
nearly  fainting ;  he  could  scarcely  move ;  he  seemed  to  me 
even  to  breathe  with  difficulty ;  he  whispered  in  my  ear : 
"Fly,  fly, — I  am  poisoned.  Oh,  fooll  why  did  I  trust  him? 
I  should  have  known  better."  I  tied  the  sheets  securely 
round  him  and  again  ascended,  then  putting  forth  all  my 
strength,  I  hauled  him  up  to  the  top,  but  the  exertion 
nearly  killed  me.  When  I  got  him  there  I  placed  him  for 
a  few  minutes  on  the  broad  ledge;  the  starlight  gleamed 
with  a  melancholy  smile  over  his  white  features,  on  which 
the  death-agony  was  already  written.  "Fly,"  said  he,  "fly, 
I  say,  or  you  will  be  discovered — and  then  death ; — see  the 
Bun  is  alread}-^  in  the  East."  I  looked;  it  was  so,  but  I 
was  determined  not  to  leave  him.  I  untied  the  sheets  and 
flung  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  then  securely 
binding  the  hook  to  the  parapet,  I  lifted  the  dying  man 
upon  my  back,  and  descended  with  him.  We  got  down 
safely.  A  little  fountain  murmured  by.  I  bore  him  to  it, 
and  bathed  his  face;  the  cold  water  seemed  to  revive  him. 
He  opened  his  poor  eyes — ^their  light  was  fading  fast.  I 
burst  into  tears.     I  pressed,  I  folded  him  to  my  heart. 

"  Wortley,"  said  he,  "remember  my  dying  words.  Avoid 
my  uncle  and  his  snares.  Go  to  the  East — tlie  sunligJit 
East.  Seek  Francesca,  and  if  you  find  her,  let  her  pray 
for  me.  Pray  thou  also  for  tliine  unhappy  friend.  Now 
leave  me.     God  bless  you — bless  you."    And  he  fell  back. 

He  was  dead.  I  laid  his  limbs  at  full  length  beside  that 
holy  stream.  I  offered  up  a  brief  prayer  to  God,  and  kissed 
his  lips  already  cold.  My  licart  was  full  almost  to  bursting. 
Here  was  my  sole  friend  on  earth — except  perhaps  Manasam. 
Well,  mine  has  been  a  strange  existence.  Once  again  I 
smoothed  his  limbs  and  looked  upon  his  face.  I  closed 
the  eyes — those  eyes  once  so  soft  with  love,  and  fervor,  and 
28 


438     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAaU. 

enthusiasm.  The  early  sunbeam  had  already  come  forth 
from  behind  the  moimtains ;  there  was  a  sacred  beauty  in 
this  sylvan  place ;  the  birds  began  to  wake  and  warble ;  all 
nature  seemed  joyous,  bustling,  active;  but  in  my  heart 
was  death.  My  friend,  alas  I  was  no  more.  With  ditficulty 
I  tore  myself  away.  I  was  tossed  in  a  tempest  of  conflict- 
ing thoughts.  Suddenly  the  convent  bell  rang  out  its 
deathlike  peal,  and  I  fled  into  the  mountains ;  I  found  a 
cavern,  and  rushed  into  its  farthest  depths.  I  flung  my- 
seK  on  the  ground  and  slept. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

I  CONCEALED  myself  the  whole  of  the  day  in  the  cavern, 
and  ruminated  on  my  condition.  What  was  now  to  be- 
come of  me  ?  I  was  alone  in  a  foreign  land,  at  the  mercy 
I  had  almost  said  of  a  ferocious  priest,  who  from  his  ante- 
cedent history  would  probably  have  no  scruple  in  destroy- 
ing me  if  he  could.  It  behooved  me  to  be  exceedingly 
cautious.  Flight  from  his  vicinity  was  indispensable,  but 
the  method  of  accomplishing  it  did  not  seem  so  easy. 
Already  I  pictured  to  myself  in  imagination  the  bands  of 
military  emissaries  who  were  pursuing  me.  If  a  leaf  trem- 
bled on  a  tree,  I  thought  it  was  a  soldier ;  if  a  dog  barked 
I  started  and  supposed  it  heralded  the  approach  of  my 
captors.  I  was  conscious  indeed  that  I  had  committed  no 
crime,  but  I  had  now  seen  enough  of  life  to  know  that  in- 
nocence is  but  a  poor  shield  against  the  malevolence  of 
mankind.  Thus  the  long  hours  passed,  and  I  was  without 
food  in  this  gloomy  hiding-place,  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  convent,  and  consequently  every  moment  in  danger. 
At  length  night  descended,  and  I  stole  forth.    How  caJm 


BDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     439 

and  refreshing  seemed  the  mountain-wafted  breeze  of 
nature  I  how  much  of  glorious  happy  liberty  did  the  open 
landscape  breathe  into  my  soul!  For  a  few  moments  I 
felt  glad,  but  the  recollection  of  my  wretched  condition 
soon  recurred  to  me,  and  I  determined  to  lose  no  time  in 
entering  on  my  flight.  There  was  a  clear  azure  light  fall- 
ing from  the  heaven,  and  I  could  see  that  the  moon  would 
soon  rise.  I  resolved  therefore  to  get  forward  on  my  road 
before  this  occurred.  I  proceeded  hastily,  often  looking 
back,  but  as  it  seemed  without  any  reason.  I  heard  no 
footstep,  I  perceived  no  signal  of  pursuit.  The  wood 
through  which  I  took  my  way  was  silent  as  the  grave.  I 
began  to  walk  with  a  stouter  step,  and  a  less  anxious  beat, 
ing  of  the  pulse. 

I  wandered  thus  for  a  week,  concealing  myself  during 
the  open  glare  of  day,  and  as  the  evening  hour  api)eared 
recommencing  my  journey.  I  subsisted  on  such  wild  fruits 
as  I  could  find,  and  on  the  chance  charity  of  the  muleteer 
or  peasant,  who  poorer  than  an  Irishman  is  as  stiff  and 
haughty  as  a  prince.  I  picked  up  a  flute  which  some  trav- 
eller had  lost  or  thrown  away,  and  often  gained  a  supper 
and  a  bed  in  return  for  my  musical  skill.  Our  English 
airs,  of  which  I  knew  a  good  many,  were  a  perfect  novelty 
to  these  people,  nor  was  the  flute  less  so ;  for  Spain  is  the 
land  of  guitars  or  castanets.  I  saw  much  to  reconcile  me 
to  human  nature ;  hospitality,  kindness,  good  feeling,  good 
fellowship,  even  among  the  most  humble;  the  grandees, 
however,  scorned  me,  and  would  give  me  nothing.  But 
Spain  is  a  land  of  desolation.  Every  thing  is  arid,  death- 
like, melancholy.  The  towns  and  villages  are  rapidly  de- 
caying; they  seem  to  sink  day  by  day  into  the  dry  and 
greedy  earth.  The  people,  stately,  silent  and  desponding, 
appear  to  have  resigned  the  mselves  up  to  a  proud  despair 
and  stalk  about  with  a  ghostlike  solemnity,  which  to  an 
Englishman  is  any  thing  but  agreeable  to  see.    For  to  our 


440     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

bustling  eye  of  energy  and  toil  this  lounging  laziness  looks 
criminal ;  we  immediately  suspect  an  idle  man  of  being  no 
better  than  he  should  be.  All  Spaniards  are  so  in  seeming 
if  not  in  reality.  Every  thing  is  at  a  stand-still ;  you  enter 
a  town  and  it  is  a  dwelling,  not  of  the  living,  but  of  the 
dead.  AU  the  essence  of  life  has  gone  out  of  them ;  their 
motions  are  mechanical ;  there  is  no  vitality  in  the  people 
or  in  the  land.  They  are  like  their  own  mountains,  silent, 
lonely  and  unproductive;  they  are  like  their  own  vegas, 
dark,  solitary  and  barren.  The  only  living  things  in  Spain 
are  one  or  two  of  their  rivers,  which  are  rapid  enough ;  and 
all  their  women,  including  duennas,  who  are  as  capricious 
and  as  bright  as  their  river  waves.  I  had  nearly  forgotten 
their  goats,  which  are  quite  as  frisky  as  their  women. 

On  the  ninth  day  of  my  flight  I  found  myself  in  the 
boundless  forests  of  Almoramia.  Here,  at  all  events,  I 
was  safe  enough.  What  a  place !  North,  south,  east,  west, 
wherever  I  looked  it  was  all  interminable  woodland.  Cork, 
oak,  and  ilex  trees  reared  their  lofty  branches ;  the  ash  and 
willow  grew  in  thousands  in  the  marshy  parts.  I  began 
to  fear  I  should  lose  my  way  amid  this  world  of  wood. 
The  sun  could  scarcely  penetrate  its  mighty  depths ;  the 
widely  spreading  branches'of  the  cork  trees  and  the  gnarled 
arms  of  the  oak  effectually  excluded  those  scorching  beams 
under  which  I  should  have  perished  during  the  past  week, 
had  I  not  hidden  myself  under  rocks,  and  caves,  and  by 
the  deep  and  shadowy  banks  of  the  rivers.  The  Guada- 
ranque  flowed  through  this  mighty  wilderness,  but  it  was 
an  unsafe  guide.  Nor  was  it  always  approachable.  It 
wound  under  a  perfect  covering  of  woodbine,  clematis,  and 
other  thickly  foliaged  creepers,  and  I  have  more  than  once 
almost  tumbled  headlong  into  its  breast  from  the  deep 
banks  that  girdled  it  in.  The  open  glades  that  sometimes 
gleamed  like  bright  islands  of  verdure  reminded  me  of  dear 
old  England ;  but  I  had  other  business  on  my  hands  at 


EDWABD  WORTLBT  MONTAQU.      441 

present  than  that  of  sentimental  recollection  or  poetic  fancy, 
and  the  sight  of  a  wild  boar  has  more  than  once  put  all 
my  most  romantic  reveries  to  flight.  At  night  the  wolves 
howled  horribly;  but  by  this  time  I  could  climb  a  tree 
almost  as  nimbly  as  a  squirrel ;  and  when  I  was  thoroughly 
fatigued  I  usually  selected  the  softest  greenest  bough  of  an 
oak  tree  for  my  pillow ;  and  there  ensconced,  surrendered 
myself  to  sleep,  with  only  the  stars,  my  guardian  angel, 
and  Providence  to  watch  over  me — ^no  bad  sentinels  you 
will  probably  say. 

One  night,  just  as  I  had  got  into  my  perch,  I  was  aroused 
by  a  sudden  noise,  and  peering  as  well  as  I  could  into  the 
darkness  from  my  leafy  bedroom,  I  thought  I  could  see  a 
number  of  figures  mounted  on  mules  riding  rapidly  towards 
the  very  tree  on  which  I  was  housed.  A  hundred  thoughts 
of  a  pursuing  band  of  soldiers  or  alguazils  crossed  my  mind, 
and  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  more  particularly  as  they  all 
dismounted  round  the  tree  where  I  was  hidden,  and  began 
to  laugh  and  talk  with  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  the 
camp  and  guardroom.  In  a  few  moments  my  heart  was 
again  at  rest.  These  gentlemen  were  not  government  ban- 
ditti— they  were  only  robbers  on  j,heir  own  account.  They 
had  not  the  royal  license  to  pillage  and  maltreat,  which  is 
one  of  the  cherished  privileges  of  the  alguazils  of  His  Most 
Catholic  Majesty.  They  were  merely  a  number  of  jovial 
gentlemen  who  were  associated  for  the  same  purpose,  but 
without  the  sign  manual  of  the  sovereign  to  justify  them 
if  they  were  detected.  They  were  in  all  about  sixty,  and 
a  terrible  cutthroat  crew  they  looked ;  but  I  had  more  faith 
in  them  somehow  than  I  should  have  h.nd,  had  there  been 
the  same  number  of  alguazils  with  law  on  their  lips  and 
license  in  their  hands  to  trample  upon  every  law  that 
hedges  round  the  rights  and  privileges  of  the  people.  They 
soon  kindled  a  fire,  unpacked  their  wallets,  aud  producing 
sundry  joints  of  cold  roast  kid,  a  multitude  of  cooked  fowls, 


442     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

and  unending  baskets  of  eggs,  cheese,  bacon,  bread,  and 
garlic,  and  pigskins  filled  with  wine,  prepared  a  sumptuous 
repast,  for  which  I  can  assure  you  my  mouth  watered  and 
my  stomach  sadly  yearned.  The  fact  is  I  had  lived  upon 
nothing  but  bread  and  water  and  a  cigar  for  the  last  four 
days  of  my  pilgrimage,  aud  I  was  tired  of  such  eremitical, 
though  heavenly  food. 

Kow  when  they  had  feasted  like  Homer's  heroes,  and 
were  filled  with  food  and  wine,  that  jovial  spirit  which  no 
Spaniard  can  thoroughly  hide,  and  no  bandit  with  a  full 
belly  is  ever  without,  broke  forth  unrestrainedly  among 
these  glorious  minions  of  the  moon.  Clearing  away  their 
plates  and  dishes,  they  drew  themselves  closer  around  the 
fire;  and  as  the  night  was  somewhat  chill,  they  largely 
heaped  upon  it  dry  leaves  and  branches,  and  began  to 
smoke  and  drink  like  men  who  were  resolved  to  be  happy. 
They  stretched  themselves  at  full  length  on  coats  and 
capes,  and  junks  of  cork,  and  beneath  the  glorious  green 
oak  trees  formed  a  group  that  a  painter  would  have  loved 
to  see,  or  a  poet  to  describe.  The  fire  blazed  brightly, 
and  its  glitter-sparks  ascended  almost  to  the  bough  on 
which  I  was  hidden ;  through  an  opening  in  the  leafy  arch 
overhead,  the  living  stars  were  seen  shining  in  the  blue 
ether,  and  when  the  voices  of  the  bandits  were  hushed,  the 
distant  music  of  the  rolling  Guadaranque  was  softly  heard. 
If  I  could  have  been  quite  certain  that  I  should  remain  un- 
observed by  prying  e^'es,  I  should  have  enjoj-ed  the  scene 
almost  as  much  as  themselves ;  but  my  trepidation  was  not 
a  little  increased  b}'  my  liunger,  which  now  indeed  began 
sensibly  to  remind  me,  as  it  did  Alexander  the  Great,  that 
I  was  a  mere  mortal  after  all.  However,  I  bore  up  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  as  I  well  knew  the  language,  I  was  not  a 
little  amused  by  their  conversation.  There  wei"e  some  wild 
wags  among  them,  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy  some  recent 
adventure  with  more  than  boyish  glee. 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAaU.     443 

"  By  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Toledo,"  said  one,  and  he  rever- 
ently raised  his  hat,  "  never  did  I  think  such  splendid  fun 
was  to  be  got  out  of  a  rascal  monk  as  we  have  had  this 
blessed  afternoon.     Will  you  hear  it,  my  captain  V* 

The  Captain  and  the  rest  willingly  assented. 

"  We  had  not  parted  an  hour,  my  captain,"  resumed  the 
bandit,  "  when  we  overtook  one  of  those  Capuchins  who 
eat  up  all  the  food  of  the  poor,  and  give  them  only  empty 
words  in  return;  so  I  said  to  my  companion  Julian  Romea, 
*  here,  let  us  have  some  fun  with  this  fellow,'  and  faith,  we 
lost  no  time  in  doing  so.  So  seizing  him,  we  bid  him  stand 
and  deliver ;  but  the  wretch  had  nothing — no,  not  even  a 
maravedi,  or  if  he  had,  he  must  have  swallowed  his  treasure 
— for  nothing  with  the  holy  name  of  the  king  could  be 
found  in  his  capacious  pouches.  Well,  this  annoyed  us — 
so  we  gagged  him  and  bound  his  hands  together,  and  hav- 
ing also  tethered  his  feet  with  a  short  rope,  so  that  he 
could  only  limp  along — not  half  so  well  as  the  Devil  on 
Two  Sticks — we  tied  him  up  in  an  old  cow's  skin  which 
we  happened  to  have,  and  fastening  the  horns  on  to  his 
head,  and  a  couple  of  sharp  bells  to  these,  we  dismissed 
him  with  our  blessing,  having  just  compelled  him  to  give 
us  his  benediction ;  though  I  think  it  sounded  marvellously 
like  a  curse.  Oh  1  what  a  figure  he  was !  We  watched  him 
into  the  next  village,  crawling,  hobbling,  jumping,  ringing 
his  bells,  and  altogether  appearing  like  the  devil  himself, 
with  a  long  tail  streaming  behind  him.  All  the  cattle  ran 
away  wild;  the  donkeys  brayed  with  astonishment;  the 
dogs  barked  and  made  the  most  laughable  disturbance; 
the  cows  cocked  up  their  tails  and  seemed  ready  to  jump 
over  the  moon;  the  geese  gabbled;  the  cocks  and  hens 
made  a  horrible  noise ;  and  the  ducks  cried  quack,  quack, 
while  we  ourselves  were  ready  to  burst.  The  people  in  the 
village  came  out,  but  could  make  notliing  of  what  they  saw. 
At  last  one  bawled  out '  It  is  the  devil,'  whereupon  they 


444     EDWAKD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

all  scampered  after  their  cows;  and  while  the  women 
screamed,  and  the  children  roared,  and  the  asses  capered, 
the  friar  himself  managed  to  make  a  strange  outcry  through 
his  gagged  mouth,  which  completed  the  scene,  and  still 
more  frightened  the  panic-stricken  crowd.  Romea  laughed 
so  much  that  he  fell  down  in  the  mud,  and  I  had  some 
difficulty  in  getting  him  up.  At  last  the  priest  of  the  vil- 
lage came  out  with  a  gun  in  one  hand,  and  a  crucifix  in 
the  other,  and  when  he  came  near  our  friend,  he  took  aim, 
and  would  have  probably  shot — not  him,  but  a  donkej' — 
when  the  friar  fell  flat  on  his  face,  and  the  priest  taking 
courage,  came  up,  and  waving  the  crucifix  over  him,  caught 
hold  of  one  of  the  horns,  which  soon  revealed  the  mystery, 
and  when  he  had  disgagged  his  man  the  whole  story  was 
made  clear.  But  it  was  too  good  an  opportunity  for  the 
priest  to  let  pass,  so  he  called  the  people  forward  and  told 
them  he  had  worked  a  miracle  by  casting  the  devil  out  of 
a  holy  friar,  in  proof  of  which  he  showed  the  cow's  hide 
and  horns.  Great  was  the  amazement  of  the  villagers,  who 
soon  assembled  in  crowds,  and  our  priest  cut  up  the  skin 
into  small  shreds,  which  he  sold  to  the  bystanders  as  a 
charm  against  all  the  imps  of  hell ;  but  the  horns  he  re- 
moved into  the  chapel,  and  there  suspended  them  over  the 
high  altar,  in  honor  of  the  mighty  deed  which  he  had  done, 
and  he  and  the  friar  divided  the  spoil ;  and  we  heard  him 
telling  the  people  he  liad  been  met  on  the  road  b}^  several 
devils,  one  of  whom  had  transformed  him  into  a  monster ; 
and  then  he  muttered  blessings  on  the  priest  for  having 
accomplished  one  of  the  greatest  miracles  on  record.  But 
I  and  Romea,  having  enjoyed  the  scene,  immediately  be- 
took ourselves  on  the  journey  which  3^011,  mj'  captain, 
ordered  us  to  make,  and  here  are  the  results  thereof." 

Whereupon  he  produced  a  massive  silver  goblet,  at  which 
the  eyes  of  all  glistened  with  delight ;  and  the  captain,  with 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.     445 

the  air  of  a  connoisseur,  pronounced  it  to  be  a  matchless 
specimen. 

Then  our  friend  Romea,  rising,  sang  a  ballad  of  the  Cid 
in  a  fine,  manly  voice,  which  resounded  through  the  forest, 
and  woke  up  the  distant  echoes ;  and  fresh  logs  were  piled 
upon  the  fire,  and  the  pig-skins  were  again  handed  round, 
and  all  was  mirth  and  jollity. 

In  the  midst  of  these  revels  one  of  the  bandits  was  ob- 
served to  sigh  deeply. 

"How  now,  brother?"  said  one,  "why  are  you  melan- 
choly in  the  midst  of  this  good  cheer  ?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Toledo,"  an- 
swered the  bandit,  demurely. 

"A  miracle! — a  miracle!"  shouted  a  third ;  "what!  is 
Joaquim  becoming  religious  ?" 

"Aye,  faith,  that  will  be  a  miracle,"  added  a  fourth,  "  for 
I  know  no  man  apter  Inidespoiling  a  fat  monk,  or  rifling  a 
convent  cellar." 

"  Or  kissing  a  young  novice,"  put  in  a  fifth. 

"  Or  pulling  the  ears  of  the  bishop's  pretty  housekeeper," 
said  a  sixth. 

In  a  word,  every  one  had  something  to  remark  upon  this 
new  conversion. 

Joaquim  remained  silent  until  all  had  had  their  say;  ho 
then  spoke  with  great  gravity. 

"  By  my  beard,  my  brothers,  I  am,  in  truth,  grown  re- 
ligious ever  since  I  was  in  the  old  Cathedral  of  Toledo,  and 
saw  the  Holy  Virgin  decked  on  last  Anunciation  day,  and 
I  would  willingly  make  the  heavenly  lady  my  own  if  I  had 
the  chance  to  do  so,  and  not  envy  the  Lord  Arciibishop 
for  the  rest  of  my  life ;  for  her  head  was  covered  with  a 
golden  crest  set  so  thick  with  diamonds,  emeralds  and 
pearls,  that  there  was  not  room  to  insert  one  stone,  were  it 
but  the  bigness  of  a  needle's  eye;  and  on  her  neck  sbo 


446      EDWARD  WOETLBY  MONTAQU. 

wore  a  necklace  such  as  no  king  or  queen  of  old  Castile 
has  ever  worn ;  but  her  petticoat — " 

"  Ah !  I  thought  you'd  come  to  that,"  says  a  sly  fellow 
with  a  wink. 

"Her  petticoat  was  all  adorned,"  pursued  Joaquim,  "with 
flowers  and  pearls,  among  which  were  some  as  big  as  an 
egg,  and  these  were  mixed  up  with  black  pearls  of  so  rare 
a  lustre  that  each  was  worth  its  weight  in  gold  a  thousand 
times ;  and  stars  and  suns,  and  other  matchless  devices,  all 
worked  with  the  finest  jewels,  covered  over  this  sacred  petti- 
coat so  thickly  that,  if  I  could,  I  would  have  sold  my  soul 
to  Satan  to  possess  this  blessed  virgin  of  my  heart.  And 
now  I  sigh  from  the  bottom  of  my  bowels  whenever  I  think 
of  the  matchless  Mother  of  Toledo,  and  I  pray  to  all  the 
saints  that  she  were  mine." 

"Bravo!  bravo!"  cried  half  a  dozen;  "so  much  for 
Joaquim's  conversion ;"  and  they  drank  his  health  around. 

"Gentlemen,"  saj^s  the  Captain,  "I  have  news  for  you 
that  will  stir  your  blood,  and  bring  forth  every  man's  metal. 
Two  hundred  of  the  king's  soldiers  are  on  our  track." 

There  was  a  melancholy  pause.  Even  these  dare-de\'ils 
were  not  particularly  anxious  to  come  to  close  quarters 
with  well-disciplined  soldiers.  The  Captain  waited,  but 
no  man  spoke. 

"  How  now,  gentlemen  ?"  said  he ;  "  surely  we  are  not 
afraid.  We  have  beaten  them  before,  and  shall  beat  them 
again  like  brave  men.  But  let  us  take  courage.  They 
received  their  orders  at  Madrid ;  so  we  have  the  start  of 
them  by  several  hundred  miles,  and  if  we  don't  like  close 
quarters  we  can  easily  beat  a  retreat." 

"Two  hundred  is  a  large  number,"  said  one. 

"  The  odds  are  disproportionate,"  murmured  another. 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  should  gain  by  fighting,"  remarked 
a  third. 

"Faith,  I'd  rather  sack  a  convent,"  sighed  forth  Joaquim. 


BDWARD    WOBTLBT    MONTAOTT.  447 

This  sally  produced  a  general  laugh.  It  seemed  conceded 
by  all  that  the  better  part  of  valor  was  discretion,  and  I 
could  see,  that  though  bold,  they  were  not  desperate  fools. 

"How  now,  gentlemen  braves,"  said  the  Captain;  "what 
is  to  be  done?" 

"Why  pack  up  all  our  winnings,  and  retreat  into  Gra- 
nada," said  Julian  Romea;  "there  ia  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  fighting,  and  I  have  always  thought  that  it  is  the  part 
of  brave  men  to  wait  until  they  are  attacked." 

This  proposal  met  with  general  approbation;  the  Captain 
himself  applauded  it,  and  it  was  passed  unanimously. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "let  us  go  to  sleep.  In 
the  morning,  as  soon  as  the  day  dawns,  we  shall  commence 
our  retreat.  God  assists  him  who  rises  early.  We  have 
several  days  start  of  the  soldiers,  and  they  must  be  nimble- 
footed  fellows  if  they  can  overtake  us,  with  our  light  bag- 
gage and  our  merry  hearts." 

Thus  saying,  they  prepared  for  repose.  This  was  an 
easy  matter.  They  spread  their  valises  and  saddles  under 
their  heads;  each  man  stretched  himself  at  length  with  his 
feet  turned  towards  the  fires,  after  having  well  looked  to 
his  arms,  primed  and  loaded  his  pistols,  and  seen  that  they 
were  ready  placed  at  hand,  but  sheltered  nevertheless  from 
the  night  dew.  Julian  Romea  was  chosen  as  sentinel,  and 
the  whole  company  were  fast  asleep  in  five  minutes.  Julian 
heaped  a  new  pile  of  logs  on  the  fire,  and  sat  down  by  it. 
But  in  a  little  time  also  he  began  to  nod.  I  suppose  that 
secret  pilgrimage  on  which  he  had  gone  with  his  companion 
after  their  little  pleasantry  with  the  friar  had  taxed  his 
energies  to  the  utmost;  for  Julian  certainly  exhibited  all 
the  signs  of  deep  fatigue.  He  wrestled  hard,  however, 
with  the  enemy,  and  strove  to  drive  off  every  attack  of 
slumber,  but  the  foe  proved  too  strong  for  him;  and  in  a 
little  while  he  was  as  sound  as  his  companions.    He  soon 


448  EDWARD    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

passed  from  a  sitting  to  a  recumbent  posture,  and  gaye 
audible  tokens  that  he  also  was  in  the  Land  of  Dreams. 

I  now  thought  within  myself  what  I  had  better  do.  Should 
I  remain  in  my  covert  until  morning,  I  should  probably 
be  seen  and  made  quick  work  of — treated  as  a  spy,  and 
shot,  or  stabbed  without  ceremony ;  or  should  I  endeavor 
to  retreat  while  this  lucky  spell  of  sleep  was  over  Julian  ? 
There  was  immense  hazard  either  way.  I  had  no  doubt 
that  discovery  at  any  time  would  be  death,  and  there 
seemed  but  faint  hope  of  my  being  able  to  steal  away  from 
sixty  men,  any  one  of  whom,  the  dropping  of  a  leaf  or 
broken  branch,  the  cry  of  a  wolf,  or  of  an  owl,  might  sud- 
denly wake  up  while  I  was  yet  within  their  grasp.  So  far, 
I  blessed  my  star  that  I  had  escaped  unnoticed;  but  was 
it  wise  wholly  to  rely  on  their  non-observance  of  me  ?  The 
eyes  of  sixty  prying  men,  keenly  suspicious  to  all  appear- 
ances, and  made  more  keen  still  in  consequence  of  the  in- 
formation which  they  had  just  received  from  their  Captain, 
would  be  soon  about  the  place  where  I  was  hiding,  and  it 
seemed  impossible  I  should  escape.  On  the  other  hand, 
cool  reason  said,  "You  have  escaped  so  far — why  tempt 
your  fate  by  a  wild  endeavor  to  break  away  from  this  cir- 
cle? It  is  hopeless  for  you  to  suppose  that  you  can  elude 
them  if  you  leave  your  present  hiding-place.  In  the  hurry 
and  bustle  of  their  quick  departure,  in  saddling  their  mules 
and  preparing  their  baggage,  they  will  have  quite  enough 
to  occupy  their  minds,  without  peering  up  into  the  skies 
in  search  of  wandering  Englishmen,  who  are  eccentric 
enough  to  make  their  bedchamber  in  the  boughs.  At  all 
events  if  you  are  to  be  caught,  it  is  better  to  be  caught  in 
the  morning,  when  they  may  probably  only  make  you  their 
prisoner,  and  carry  you  off  with  them  into  the  mountains; 
whereas  if  you  are  now  discovered  you  will  be  infallibly 
butchered  before  you  can  have  time  to  explain  your  posi- 
tion and  your  motives;   for  sleepy  men,  when  suddenly 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     449 

aroused,  are  about  the  poorest  reasoners  you  can  argue 
with.  Lie  still,  therefore — go  to  sleei) — and  put  your  trust 
in  Providence." 

This  on  the  whole  seemed  wisest,  and  I  prepared  to  do 
80.  Sleep  I  could  not,  though  I  strove  hard  enough.  An 
hour  thus  passed,  and  the  whole  band  were  buried  in  pro- 
found repose.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  scritch-owl  cry;  some- 
thing struck  me  as  peculiar  in  it;  my  gypsy  education  had 
made  me  well  acquainted  with  the  tones  of  birds,  and  there 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  dash  of  the  unnatural  about  this  such 
as  I  had  never  heard  before.  "It  is  a  peculiarity  in  tlie 
bird,"  I  thought,  and  I  again  endeavored  to  fall  asleep. 
In  a  little  while  I  heard  it  again,  and  the  unusual  note 
jarred  upon  my  ear.  To  my  surprise  it  was  answered  from 
an  adjacent  tree,  and  in  the  answer  there  was  the  same 
peculiarity  of  tone.  "It  is  some  new  species,"  I  muttered, 
and  I  looked  forth  to  see  them.  All  was  darkness.  The 
cry  was  now  repeated  for  a  third  time,  and  answered  in 
the  same  way;  the  bandits  still  slept  on,  and  two  men  de- 
scended almost  at  the  same  instant  from  a  couple  of  adja- 
cent cork  trees.  They  must  have  stolen  into  them  while 
these  gentlemen  were  amusing  themselves  over  their  wine, 
and  the}'  certainly  had  done  so  unobserved  b}'  me.  I  knew 
at  once  that  they  were  soldiers,  and  probably  they  belonged 
to  the  King's  guard.  After  a  rapid  survey  they  disap- 
peared together  into  the  woods. 

This  incident  gave  me  courage.  If  these  men  can  thus 
effect  their  purpose,  I  said,  why  should  not  I  ?  They  have 
shown  me  that  it  was  possible;  I  were  a  fool  if  I  did  not 
imitate  them.  I  crept  noiselessly  down,  and  was  already 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  ground,  when  a  branch  on  which  I 
was  supported  broke,  and  1  fell  on  the  earth,  but  lightly. 
No  one  stirred,  and  I  was  congratulating  myself  that  all 
was  right,  when  the  captain  suddenly  opened  his  black 
eyes  and  fixed  them  full  upon  me;  but  had  1  remained  still, 


450      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

I  should  probably  have  escaped  unobserved,  and  the  bandit 
would  have  supposed  he  was  dreaming.  But  seeing  him 
intently  looking  at  the  place  on  which  I  stood,  and  sur- 
mising that  I  was  seen,  I  put  my  hand  to  my  lips  to  indi- 
cate silence,  and  said,  "Hold,"  in  tones  sutBciently  loud 
for  him  to  hear,  but  not  audible  enough  to  wake  the  others. 
The  captain  was  a  brave  man ;  he  sprang  up,  but  made  no 
signal.  He  came  towards  me  with  his  carbine.  He  saw 
that  I  was  unarmed  and  did  not  attempt  to  fly.  He  laid 
his  hand  upon  me,  and  led  me  away  from  the  group.  When 
we  had  got  to  some  distance  he  looked  at  me  sternly.  Even 
in  that  midnight  hour  I  could  see  the  fixed  fire  in  his  eye, 
and  I  could  feel  the  full  determination  that  was  in  his  voice. 
His  grasp  was  like  a  vice;  but  I  trembled  not  in  the  least; 
and  this  coolness  saved  me. 

"What  mean  you  ?"  he  said.     "What  brings  you  here  ?" 

"Release  me,"  I  answered,  "I  am  an  Englishman.  Your 
life  is  in  my  hands." 

"My  life,"  he  replied,  scornfully.  "Fool,  it  is  your  life 
that  is  in  mine.  With  one  word  from  me  your  moments 
are  numbered.  Speak  instantly.  Tell  me  who  you  are, 
and  what  brings  you  to  this  place." 

I  recounted  briefly  as  much  of  my  story  as  was  requisite 
for  him  to  know.  I  then  came  to  that  part  which  related 
to  himself  and  the  welfare  of  his  companions. 

"You  were  misled  when  you  supposed  that  the  soldiers 
were  far  oflf.  They  are  at  this  moment  in  the  neighborhood. 
I  have  seen  two  of  their  spies ;  they  are  probably  now  sur- 
rounding you  in  their  toils.  You  must  fly  instantly,  or 
you  are  undone." 

"Is  this  true?"  he  said,  slowly,  and  he  was  lost  in  medi- 
tation. He  roused  himself,  "  Aye !  why  should  it  not  ?  It 
tallies  with  my  dream;  meanwhile  stay  here  until  I  return, 
nor  attempt  to  escape;  if  you  do,  a  bullet  shall  stop  you." 

I  pledged  my  word  that  I  would  remain.     The  captain 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      451 

■went  and  roused  his  companions.  A  hurried  conversation 
took  place.  In  five  minutes  they  were  preparing  for  flight; 
their  mules  were  saddled,  and  themselves  ready.  Julian 
was  already  a  prisoner  for  sleeping  on  his  post;  and  I  un- 
derstood he  would  be  tried,  and  probably  shot,  unless  ex- 
tenuating circumstances  appeared.  The  men  formed  into 
rank,  and  rode  rapidly  away  in  a  direction  indicated  by 
the  captain.  The  latter  remained  with  me.  He  was  armed 
to  the  teeth. 

"Senor  Englishman,"  he  said,  "I  am  about  to  test  you. 
Let  us  climb  into  the  tree  where  you  were  concealed,  and 
wait  for  the  soldiers.  If  they  appear  you  have  saved  my 
life,  and  my  soul  is  yours;  if  not" — and  he  stopped. 

"What  then?"  I  asked. 

"You  shall  die  by  my  hand,"  he  answered,  "for  this  lie." 

He  said  this  with  a  coolness  that  convinced  me  he  meant 
exactly  what  he  said. 

I  could  of  course  offer  no  remonstrance.  To  do  so  would 
have  aroused  his  8US})icion,  and  probably  led  instantly  to 
the  consummation  which  he  threatened.  I  [)oiuted  out 
the  tree  in  silence;  he  motioned  me  to  ascend,  and  I  did 
so.  He  followed  and  took  his  place  beside  me.  An  hour 
passed,  and  all  was  still.  Another  hour,  and  still  no  sig- 
nal of  surprise.  The  dawn  began  faintly  to  break  over  the 
horizon;  we  could  see  the  light  penetrate  the  branches,  and 
the  earliest  birds  began  to  waken.  Suddenly  we  heard  foot- 
steps— tramp,  tramp,  tramp — tramp  they  came.  It  was  the 
approach  of  soldiers;  we  heard  the  sound  from  the  four 
quarters  of  the  world  at  the  same  moment.  All  converged 
towards  the  point  in  which  we  were  concealed.  The  robber 
drew  closer  to  me. 

"You  have  spoken  English  truth,"  he  whispered;  "they 
are  here." 

They  were.  Three  hundred  soldiers  we  counted.  They 
carried  a  piece  of  artillery  with  them  also.     They  had  evi- 


452     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

dently  calculated  on  hemming  in  the  foe  while  he  was 
asleep,  and  destroying  him  at  their  leisure,  if  resistance 
were  offered.  They  encircled  the  place  which  had  been  so 
recently  the  robbers'  bivouac ;  but  the  foe  was  gone.  Tlieir 
rage  no  language  can  describe.  The  robber  lauglied  within 
himself.  They  ^econnoitered  in  all  directions,  and  seemed 
utterly  confused.  After  an  hour  they  followed  in  the  track 
of  the  bandits,  but  with  a  tardy  motion  that  offered  no 
likelihood  of  a  successful  pursuit. 

"  Senor  Englishman,"  said  the  captain,  "  yon  have  saved 
us  all.  Come  with  me."  I  obeyed  mechanically,  and  we 
descended  from  the  tree.  In  a  hidden  corner,  admirably 
concealed,  we  found  two  swift  Andalusian  horses,  of  true 
Arab  blood ;  mounting  one,  he  motioned  me  to  ascend  the 
other.     I  did  so. 

"Now,"  said  he,  " ride  as  if  for  life." 

We  did  so,  and  in  about  two  hours  came  up  with  the 
rest  of  the  bandits.  By- a  route  only  known  to  themselves, 
they  had  effectually  baffled  the  soldiers,  and  were  now 
pleasantly  encamped  on  the  mountains  that  look  over 
Ronda.  We  had  ridden  nearly  six-and-twenty  miles  in 
that  short  space,  and  our  horses  required  respite,  though 
they  could  have  carried  us  much  farther.  The  mules  had 
accomplished  their  work  leisurely  enough,  and  were  now 
browsing  upon  what  herbage  they  could  find. 

A  meeting  was  rapidly  summoned.  The  captain  ex- 
plained to  the  rest  under  what  circumstances  I  had  be- 
come his  companion,  and  numerous  and  warm  were  the 
greetings  which  I  received.  Every  one  pledged  himself 
to  expose  his  life  in  my  defence ;  the  Southern  vivacity 
broke  forth  in  every  word  and  gesture,  and  I  was  amazed 
to  find  so  many  stately  Spaniards  full  of  life  and  motion. 
One  brow  only  was  overcast.  This  was  Julian  Romea, 
who  was  still  in  custody,  and  with  his  hands  bound.  I 
took  courage  to  intercede  for  him. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      453 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  said,  "  there  is  one  man  here  who  is  un- 
happ3\  I  can  myself  testify  to  his  care  and  vigilance; 
but  in  truth  he  was  overpowered  by  fatigue,  and  while  he 
slept  I  vowed  to  keep  watch  in  his  place.  You  have  seen 
that  I  did  so,  and  was  no  idle  substitute.  For  my  sake  let 
him  be  pardoned."  ♦ 

The  request  could  not  well  be  refused.    It  was  received 

with  unanimous  approval,  and  the  captain  gave  orders  for 

his  release.    Julian  came  and  thanked  me  with  a  noble  air, 

.  and  though  he  did  not  use  manj'  words,  I  could  see  that  he 

felt  the  full  value  of  my  interference  on  his  behalf. 

We  rested  here  all  day,  and  at  night  passed  through 
Ronda.  The  country  through  which  we  rode  was  grandly 
picturesque — the  very  land  indeed  for  robbers.  Vast  moun- 
tains flung  their  awful  shadows  over  our  path;  terrific 
precipices  opened  wide  their  jaws  before  and  around  us ; 
woods  of  oak  and  cork  trees  now  enveloped  us  in  shade ; 
anon  we  were  in  some  steep  and  rocky  pass,  which  seemed 
as  if  about  to  topple  down  on  our  devoted  heads;  in  another 
moment  we  were  buried  in  some  deep  ravine,  thickly  over- 
grown with  trees  and  climbing  plants,  which  made  our 
journey  tedious  and  laborious.  Journeying  onwards  at 
night  and  resting  in  the  daytime,  without  any  adventures 
worth  recording,  we  at  length  approached  Granada,  re- 
posing at  the  foot  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  in  whose  safe 
recesses  we  sought  shelter  from  pursuit.  Here  the  golden 
Darro,  and  the  silver  bright  Genii  blend  their  waters,  and 
all  seems  fabled  land.  We  encamped  in  a  ravine,  dillicult 
of  approach,  even  to  those  who  knew  it  all  their  lives,  and 
bade  defiance  to  the  royal  troops,  which  we  thought  would 
never  venture  within  the  terrible  defiles  and  passes  of  thesa 
famous  mountains.    We  reckoned  without  our  host. 

29 


454      EDWARD  WOBTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

I  WAS  soon  flung  into  a  new  order  of  existence.  A  fort- 
night ago  I  was  a  lone  recluse  in  a  convent,  immersed  in 
studies  theological  or  philosophical ;  now  soaring  aloft  into 
the  golden  empyrean  with  the  dreaming  Plato,  or  bathing 
my  soul  in  those  fountains  of  light  and  beauty,  the  magic 
dramas  of  Calderon ;  now  penetrating  the  deep  ocean  of 
metaphysics  with  Aristotle  and  Spinosa,  or  poring  into  the 
mystic  secrets  with  which  Dante  has  impregnated  his  grand 
poetic  trilogy  of  Hell,  purgatory,  and  Paradise ;  now  dis- 
porting like  a  summer  bird  amid  the  perfumed  gardens  of 
Theocritus  and  Moschus,  or  the  flower-bright  haunts  of 
Tasso  and  Ariosto ;  now  clothing  my  soul  with  the  spirit- 
ual mail  of  Origen — that  fine  philosophic  speculatist  of  the 
early  ages,  so  little  known,  so  splendidly  worthy  of  being 
known ;  and  now  walking  in  Paradise  with  the  majestic 
thinkers  of  our  own  land — Bacon  and  Raleigh,  and  Hooker 
and  Barrow,  who  seem,  like  the  son  of  Peleus,  to  have  been 
fed  from  their  youth  upwards  upon  the  marrow  of  lions. 
From  this  glorious  converse  I  was  suddenly  snatched — like 
Orpheus  from  the  presence  of  his  bright  Eurydice — ^to 
what? — to  be  the  associate,  the  friend,  the  saviour  of  a 
gang  of  thieves,  every  one  of  whom  was  stained  with  un- 
mentionable crime,  and  whose  career  would  probably  close 
with  the  bullet  or  the  garotte,  I  could  scarcely  follow  the 
sequence  of  events  by  which  I,  the  only  son  of  one  of  the 
most  powerful  families  in  England,  was  thus  made  the 
sport  of  chance;  but  I  had  a  happy  indiflerence  to  all 
things  from  the  beginning,  and  I  could  make  myself  com- 
fortable with  a  crust  when  all  other  dainties  failed. 

I  took  an  early  opportunity  of  informing  our  captain, 
whose  name  I  found  was  Bermudez,  that  however  flattered 
I  might  be  by  his  CAddent  desire  that  I  should  link  my  for- 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      455 

tunes  with  his  band,  and  become  a  robber,  I  had  neverthe- 
less no  inclination  whatever  for  the  pursuit,  and  I  asked 
permission  to  depart.  Bermudez  listened  to  me  with  evi- 
dent reluctance. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "leave  me  not.  Thou  hast  ren- 
dered us  a  service,  such  as  no  man  ever  rendered  to  us 
before.  What  is  there  that  thou  mayest  not  command 
among  us?  My  life — it  is  thine.  The  lives  of  all  our 
band — they  are  thine  also.  Tarry  therefore  until  in  some 
way  we  have  given  recompense  for  that  which  we  never 
can  repay,  but  which  we  shall  certainly  acknowledge  in  the 
best  way  we  can." 

I  have  always  been  the  most  pliable  of  mankind  in  mat- 
ters that  are  of  no  consequence.  My  Lady  Mary  was 
accustomed  to  tell  all  her  friends  that  I  was  a  weak  and 
drivelling  booby.  Perhaps  she  was  right,  for  I  have  never 
cared  much  to  battle  about  trifles,  and  as  this  was  really 
one,  I  did  not  resist  my  friend's  entreaties.  What  mat- 
tered it  to  me  where  or  how  I  lived  ? — whether  in  a  palace 
or  a  robber's  cave  ?  Both  were  equally  respectable  in  my 
eyes.  Had  I  not  had  experience  of  the  first  and  of  its  com- 
ponent parts,  I  possibly  might  have  doubted,  and  sacrificed 
comfort  to  ambition.  Had  I  not  intimately  known  the 
whole  secret  history  of  St.  James's  Palace  ?  Had  I  not  seen 
with  my  own  eyes  that  all  the  fine  gentlemen  were  knaves, 
and  all  the  fine  ladies  were  jades  ?  Had  I  not  witnessed 
that  Walpole  himself  was  only  a  Captain  Bermudez  on  a 
grander  scale ;  and  that  our  noble  senators  were  only  so 
many  robbers,  who  grew  fat  upon  the  spoils  pillaged  from 
the  people,  and  divided  by  the  minister  among  his  ablest 
thieves  and  counsellors  of  mischief? 

It  would  therefore  have  been  the  meanest  humbug— 
(yes  1  that  is  the  proper  word) — for  me  to  talk  to  Captain 
Bermudez,  in  the  style  of  Captain  Grand,  or  to  aflect  a 
wondrous  squeamishness  as  to  his  life  and  pursuits  which 


456     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

I  own  I  did  not  feel.  I  had  seen  the  Beggar's  Opera,  and 
known  and  felt  its  wisdom.  I  had  fnlly  appreciated  the 
characters  of  Captain  Macheath  and  Lockitt;  and  recog- 
nized their  likeness  to  actual  living  men  whom  they  tj^pified. 
That  work  has  been  called  a  burlesque — but  it  is  the  most 
actual  truth  ever  written ;  except,  of  course,  the  gospel  his- 
tories of  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John.  Oh!  how  I 
laugh  when  I  hear  ignorant  fools  call  it  a  libel,  and  inter- 
ested writers  designate  it  a  caricature.  Ah  I  Messieurs 
Fools,  ye  do  but  play  the  game  of  your  masters  when  ye 
so  prate ;  ah !  Messieurs  Writers,  ye  do  but  serve  your  own 
well-beloved  interests  when  ye  persuade  the  fools — your 
dupes  and  drudges — that  Johnny  Gay  was  an  impudent 
satirist,  who  ought  to  have  had  his  ears  cropped,  like  poor 
Defoe.  Ah!  this  is  right  and  proper  as  the  world  wags. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  this  veritable  history  will  meet  the 
same  fate,  and  that  when  all  the  fools  cry  out  against  its 
bitterness,  &c.,  &c.,  as  false,  shallow,  and  productive  of 
evil,  &c.,  the  glorious  company  of  knaves — who  belong  to 
the  guild  of  critics — ^will  cry  Amen!  and  lifting  up  their 
hands  and  eyes  to  Heaven,  will  cry  out,  "  Oh,  what  wise 
men  these  fools  are!"  So  be  it;  I  shall  then  be  a  skeleton 
in  my  grave,  and  shall  not  much  care  for  censure  and  ap- 
plause; and  whether  my  book  lives  or  dies,  will  be  equally 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  me.  As  some  man  in  former 
days  said,  Liberavi  animam  meam ; — I  have  given  outlet 
to  the  feelings  of  my  soul,  and  having  done  this  I  am  con- 
tent to  die  and  be  forgotten. 

Nevertheless,  I  was  determined  not  to  be  a  robber,  and 
so  I  plainly  informed  Bermudez. 

"Captain  Bermudez,"  I  said,  "let  there  be  no  mistake  as 
to  our  footing — let  us  perfectly  understand  each  other.  I 
am  now  willing  to  depart.  I  have  business  in  Spain  which 
occupies  the  dearest  thoughts  of  my  soul.  I  have  acciden- 
tally fallen  in  with  your  gentlemen,  and  I  have  accidentally 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     457 

rendered  them  a  slight  service.  You  are  good  enough  to 
overrate  that  service,  but  I  assure  you  I  regard  it  only  as 
a  trifle."  Here  Captain  Bermudez  took  off  his  sombrero 
and  made  me  a  low  bow,  which  I  returned  as  in  duty 
bound — for  form  and  ceremony  are  every  thing  in  Spain. 
"  I  repeat,  Captain,  it  was  a  trifle,  and  it  is  not  worth  think- 
ing of.  Of  yourself  and  your  companions  I  say  nothing. 
I  believe  you  are  all  brave  men."  Here  the  Captain  again 
bowed  with  great  solemnity,  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  through 
the  humbug  of  returning  it,  which  greatly  disgusted  my 
John  Bull-ism.  "But  I  am  an  English  gentleman,  and  I 
cannot  become  a  Spanish  Caballero."  (I  used  this  phrase 
as  the  least  offensive — cutthroat  would  have  been  the  true 
word;  but  expediency !  oh,  expediency!  how  necessary  thou 
art  in  this  rascally  world  1)  "If  you  are  willing  to  let  me 
go,  I  shall  be  glad ;  if  not  I  shall  remain  with  you,  but  only 
as  a  visitor.  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  easing  monks 
or  merchants  of  their  superfluities.     Is  this  our  compact?" 

Captain  Bermudez  seized  me  by  the  hand. 

"Senor,"  said  he,  "nothing  was  ever  farther  from  my 
thoughts  than  that  you  should  be  involved  with  us.  I  do 
not  ask  it.  I  never  supposed  it.  I  have  solicited  your 
stay  with  us  only  as  our  honored  guest.  If  you  will  abide 
with  us  in  that  capacity,  do  so,  so  long  as  you  like.  If 
not,  go ;  you  are  free.  But  I  own  I  shall  be  disappointed 
if  you  leave  me." 

Reader!  do  not  condemn  me.  I  felt  the  sympathy  of  a 
brother  vagabond,  with  this  vagabond,  and  so  I  stayed.  I 
thank  Heaven  that  I  did  so. 

Granada,  the  Moorish  city;  the  enchanted  AUiambra! 
who  has  not  heard  of  them?  who  has  not  seen?  who  has 
not  described  ?  It  will  not  do  for  me  to  enter  on  this  beaten 
track.  Yet  will  I  briefly  note  their  principal  features ;  for 
here  occurred  the  crowning  incident  of  my  life.    Never  do 


458  EDWARD     WORTLBY    MONTAOTT. 

I  think  of  thee,  0  splendid  jewel  of  the  Snowy  Mountains, 
that  I  weep  not  from  a  full  heart. 

Granada  is  built  upon  three  hills;  the  first  contains  the 
Vermillion  Towers;  the  second,  the  sacred  Alhambra;  the 
third,  the  Albaj^cin,  which  is  separated  from  the  rest  by  a 
pass  blooming  with  flowers  and  shrubs  of  rarest  beauty; 
the  pomegranate,  the  rose-bay,  the  cactus,  the  coloquintida, 
the  pistaciiio.  The  silver  Darro  flows  beneath,  rapid  as 
lightning,  and  many  a  lovely  garden  blooms  upon  its  banks. 
It  is  a  scene  of  magic.  Spain  has  nothing  like  it,  perhaps 
the  world — if  we  except  Damascus.  There  is  one  view  of 
the  last  named  Paradise,  where  I  have  often  sat  for  hours. 
It  is  called,  I  think,  the  Seat  of  Mohammed.  That  mighty 
Conqueror  and  true  Apostle  of  God  rested  there  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  exclaimed,  '''•This  is  the  Paradise  of  earth!" 
And  truly  said  he  so.  Yet  in  our  own  glorious  land  I 
have  seen  a  scene  almost  as  lovely  and  sublime.  I  mean 
the  Wyndclifie.  The  distant  Eden  of  Damascus  surprised 
me  not,  but  made  me  drunken  with  a  sense  of  loveliness. 
The  Wyndclifie  gave  me  an  idea  of  the  sublime  and  won- 
derful such  as  I  never  felt  before.  Go  and  see  it,  and  then 
seek  Damascus  if  you  will.  But  condemn  me  not  if  thou 
disagreest  with  me;  for  I  also  have  seen  many  things,  and 
God  knows  I  have  no  reason  to  be  prejudiced. 

0 !  Granada,  Granada !  never  shall  I  forget  thee.  When 
ray  last  hour  comes,  and  my  spirit  is  preparing  for  that 
awful  and  mysterious  flight  into  the  Dark  or  Bright  IJn- 
known,  still  shalt  thou  be  in  my  thoughts,  the  next  after 
God,  Eternity  and  Judgment.  For  thou  hast  become  a 
portion  of  my  soul ;  and  if  an  earthquake  were  to  swallow 
thee  up  to-morrow,  then  should  I  know  that  my  hour  was 
come,  and  I  should  resign  myself  to  death  and  oblivion. 
Thou  art  a  part  of  my  inmost  being.  There  is  no  Moorish 
arch  within  thy  walls,  there  is  no  flowing  fountain,  there  is 
no  weeping  cypress,  there  is  no  fallen  Mosque  that  reminds 


BDWARD  WOBTLBY  MONTAOU.     459 

me  not  of  her  who  is  my  spirit's  twin,  and  who  now  lies 
sepulchred  within  thy  hallowed  bounds.  I  think  of  thy 
mighty  mountain,  peopled  with  a  million  fair  traditions ; 
and  see  even  now  the  setting  sun  upon  its  silver  summits. 
The  rose-light  glitters  on  my  aged  eyes ;  the  opal-like  irra- 
diations gleam  from  many  a  cleft  and  shining  peak ;  there 
is  the  deep  azure  of  the  blue  sea  and  the  beaming  bright- 
ness of  a  silvery  ocean  mingled  into  one  divine  picture, 
and  on  the  highest  point  appears,  like  a  diadem  of  light, 
the  blessed  spirit  of  my  lost  Francesca ;  glorious  in  para- 
dise-lustre, and  opening  wide  her  arms  to  enfold  her 
wanderer. 

My  interview  with  Captain  Bermudez  took  place  when 
we  arrived  in  the  Sierra  Nevada.  I  had  lost  no  time  in 
opening  my  mind  to  him.  I  had  assented  to  his  terms, 
and  was  now  free  to  walk  about  as  I  pleased.  Until  this 
moment  I  had  to  some  extent  been  watched ;  but  now  all 
was  liberty  and  trust.  On  the  following  morning  I  strolled 
into  the  Albaycin:  You  may  imagine  my  surprise  when  I 
found  myself  again  among  my  old  people.  The  place  was 
full  of  gypsies.  I  was  utterly  amazed.  Here  was  a  com- 
munity, nay,  a  very  kingdom  of  the  Galore.  I  could  scarcely 
rely  on  my  eyes  at  first,  but  in  a  few  minutes  I  knew  that 
it  was  so.  Nothing  could  equal  the  surprise,  the  joy,  tlie 
wild  madness  of  these  people  when  I  addressed  them  in  the 
Zingari  language — ^when  I  came  to  them  as  a  brother,  and 
claimed  kindred.  I  was  immediately  brought,  as  it  were, 
in  triumphal  procession  before  their  reigning  Duke.  He 
was  an  old  man  with  a  long  and  flowing  beard ;  but  his 
eye  was  still  bright,  and  his  brow  was  unruffled.  I  spoke 
to  him  in  the  secret  dialect  which  has  a  charm  for  the 
gj'psy  such  as  no  words  can  describe.  I  was  the  first 
Englishman  he  had  ever  seen — but  an  Englishman  and  a 
Galore  were  two  combinations  that  he  had  scarcely  ever 
expected  to  behold.    Could  they  hays  fed  me  upon  gold 


460     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

and  pearls,  they  would  have  done  so.  Young  and  old 
crowded  around  me  with  an  enthusiastic  wildness;  the 
men  looked  at  me  with  admiration ;  the  women,  old  and 
young,  kissed  my  hands  with  a  kind  of  fanaticism. 

I  passed  the  night  in  their  caves,  and  mingled  in  their 
wild  gambols.  I  was  happy,  for  I  was  surrounded  by 
happy  hearts  and  smiling  faces.  The  Duke  treated  me 
with  distinguished  politeness.  A  courtier  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  could  not  have  been  more  refined  or  fastidious 
in  true  courtesy.  Goblets  of  gold  and  silver  which  had 
been  buried  in  the  earth  for  years ;  rare  porcelain,  which 
had  been  hidden  in  baskets  almost  for  generations,  were 
produced  to  grace  their  festal  banquet ;  jewels  that  were 
as  old  as  Cleopatra  were  worn,  and  rings  of  massive  gold 
that  were  coeval  with  the  past  Pharaohs.  Flasks  of  wine 
also  were  opened  that  had  been  buried  in  the  days  of 
Columbus,  and  amulets  of  rare  value,  on  wliich  were  graven 
woi'ds  that  could  make  the  Moon  diverge  from  her  heavenly 
course,  were  worn  round  the  necks  of  the  aged  gypsies.  In 
a  word,  it  was  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten,  nor  have  I 
forgotten  it.  Thus  it  was  till  daylight.  Even  then  they 
could  not  part  with  me ;  and  I  passed  the  rest  of  the  day 
in  the  Duke's  cavern.  In  the  evening  the  same  scene  was 
renewed.  The  vesper  star  arose  and  shed  her  seraph  light 
upon  the  scene.  The  younger  gypsies,  crowned  with 
flowers,  danced  and  sang;  the  older  ones  recounted  legends, 
and  the  young  men  chaunted  the  glorious  soul-inspiring 
ballads  of  the  land.  All  was  beautiful,  wild,  and  full  of 
the  spirit  of  romance.  Many  a  sweet  smile  was  cast  upon 
me  from  dark  eyes,  that  flashed  the  soul  in  light ;  many  an 
encouraging  look  was  shed  like  sunbeams  over  me;  the 
blooming  virgins  came  as  near  me  as  they  well  could,  and 
touched  me  with  robe  and  foot,  and  wondered  why  I  did 
not  reciprocate  their  professed  love. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     461 

"  Ours  is  a  happy  life,  Senor,"  said  the  Duke ;  "  do  you 
pass  it  equally  well  in  England  ?" 

I  informed  him  of  our  employments  and  our  sports,  as  I 
had  had  experience  of  both.  He  was  anxious  to  know  all 
that  I  could  tell  him  of  our  island  customs.  He  had  a 
vague  notion  of  them,  but  many  of  his  ideas  were  wild  in 
the  extreme. 

"And  have  you  not  a  Gypsy  Queen  ?"  he  asked.  "Fin! 
Fin."     And  he  seemed  trying  to  say  the  word. 

"Margaret  Finch,"  I  answered,  and  I  described  the  old 
czarina  of  Norwood.  Then  I  told  him  of  Akiba,  and  his 
chequered  life,  and  of  the  magic  days  of  King  Zandahlo. 
They  listened  and  clapped  their  hands  with  wonder  and 
delight.  They  were  the  same  wild  impressible  race  I  had 
known  in  my  own  country.  Indians  in  all  their  traits  and 
habits — Indians  to  the  back-bone — the  Aborigines  who 
founded  Egypt  and  raised  the  statue  of  the  black  Memnon, 
children  of  the  mighty,  when  we  poor  Saxons  were  painted 
savages,  and  when  at  the  bidding  of  the  glorious  hierarchs 
of  Boodh  and  Brahm  (when  those  great  creeds  were  one) 
they  reared  Stonehenge  and  Ambersbury,  and  piled  on  high 
the  astounding  tolmen  that  even  now  strike  wonder  into 
our  so-called  engineers. 

"This  also,"  said  an  old  gypsy,  "is  an  enchanted  place. 
Wherever  we  look  we  see  traces  of  the  Magi  and  their  art, 
and  find  memorials  of  our  own  people.  It  was  they — not 
the  Moors — who  built  the  Alhambra;  but  the  Spaniards 
are  all  liars,  and  the  Moorish  writers  are  not  much  better." 

I  smiled  at  this ;  but  where  is  the  good  of  dispelling  a 
grand  dream  ?  I  have  no  doubt  the  old  man  and  his 
people  believed  it,  and  I  left  them  in  their  faith.  It  is 
commonly  said  that  the  Gitanos  have  no  traditions,  but 
this  is  nonsense.  There  is  no  tribe  without  traditions; 
and  these  wild  wanderers  have  thousands  of  them.  They 
are  all,  it  is  true,  discordant  with  each  other,  but  what  of 


462  BDWAED     WORTLEY     M0NTAGH7. 

that  ?  Consult  the  historians  of  all  people,  and  see  what  a 
sad  chaos  they  fall  into  when  they  treat  of  the  origin  of 
nations  and  peoples.  Why  should  our  people  be  wiser 
than  Livy  or  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  ?  Why  expect  more 
from  them  than  from  William  of  Malmesbury  or  the  Edda 
of  Soemund  ?  Nay,  is  not  Hume  himself  a  farago  of  non- 
sense and  lies  ? 

They  led  me  into  the  Alhambra,  the  palace  of  their  sires. 
The  moon  now  shone  in  all  her  glory  over  the  scene,  tint- 
ing every  line  with  silver;  burnishing  every  leafy  tree  and 
mouldering  battlement  with  her  soft  radiant  colors.  We 
went  into  the  palace  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  which  that  gloomy 
conqueror  hoped  would  survive  the  splendor  of  the  Moor- 
ish princes,  but  vainly ;  for  the  modern  building  is  little 
better  than  a  ruin  already,  while  the  fairy-like  arches  of  the 
Moor  seem  destined  to  defy  time  itself.  I  was  disap- 
pointed in  the  size  of  the  place.  Like  most  persons  who 
have  read  or  heard  of  it,  my  imagination  had  run  loose, 
and  I  pictured  to  m3'self  something  grand,  extended  and 
Titanesque.  But  it  is  not  so.  Every  thing  may  be  said 
to  be  on  a  small  scale ;  but  then,  how  beautiful  are  the  pro- 
portions! Probably  this  very  symmetry  makes  things 
look  smaller  than  they  are ;  as  in  St.  Peter's,  a  saint,  six 
feet  high,  appears  no  bigger  than  a  little  boy.  We  lingered 
in  the  Court  of  Lions;  we  lounged  through  the  long 
arcades,  and  marked  the  light  and  shadow  in  this  holy 
silent  hour,  and  listened  to  the  plaintive  music  of  the  foun- 
tains that  sparkle  with  a  kind  of  spiritual  airy  brilliancy 
in  the  descending  moonbeams.  We  lingered  in  the  Hall 
of  the  Two  Sisters,  and  from  the  Golden  Saloon  looked  on 
the  dimly  lighted  city  at  our  feet,  and  the  dark  valley  of 
the  winding  Darro. 

All  who  are  acquainted  with  the  Spanish  annals  know 
of  the  terrible  decree  which  was  issued  at  this  period  by 
the  Holy  Otfice  of  the  Inquisition.     The  gitanos  had  now 


EDWARD    WORTLBT    MONTAGTT.  463 

grown  into  so  vast  a  population,  that  tlie  attention  of  the 
ruling  powers  of  Satanas  had  been  particularly  called 
to  them.  They  were  to  be  counted  by  thousands  all 
throughout  Spain,  and  Granada  was  their  head-quarters. 
Here  they  were  in  immense  numbers.  All  the  eflforts  of 
the  Priests  to  convert  them  to  the  Church  of  Rome  had 
failed ;  all  the  legislative  measures  of  the  Cortes  had  been 
unable  to  extirpate  them  from  the  land.  True  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  their  eastern  blood,  it  was  found  impossible  to 
work  any  change  upon  them.  Neither  time,  nor  climate, 
nor  example  operated  in  the  least.  As  the  sun  of  Africa 
made  them  no  blacker,  so  the  temperature  of  Europe  made 
them  no  whiter ;  so  also  was  it  with  their  minds  and  cus- 
toms. All  the  other  great  conquering  nations  had  absorbed 
into  themselves  the  inferior  tribes  whom  they  had  subdued, 
or  had  been  absorbed  by  them  when  the  vanquished  were 
really  the  superiors.  The  Persians  became  Greeks;  the 
Romans  also  yielded  to  their  subjects,  and  had  adopted  the 
tones  and  habits  of  the  Hellenians;  the  Franks  became 
Gauls;  the  Normans  absorbed  the  Saxon  tribes;  and  the 
Cymri,  who  were  a  superior  race,  absorbed  the  Mantchous, 
who  were  their  masters  in  battle.  But  the  gypsies  were 
still  unchanged.  They  neither  amalgamated  with  the  people 
with  whom  they  lived,  nor  would  they  become  identified 
with  them  in  any  one  particular.  They  were  a  nation  apart 
and  alone. 

Some  of  the  more  zealous  priests  had  taken  occasion  to 
get  hold  of  many  of  the  younger  gypsies,  almost  in  their 
infancy,  and  to  breed  them  up  in  the  Papal  faith ;  but  when 
they  reached  the  age  of  puberty  the  gypsy  blood  broke 
forth;  every  thing  that  had  been  instilled  into  them  was 
forgotten  or  despised,  and  they  fled  to  the  camp  of  their 
tribe;  wild  as  Arabs,  untamable  as  hyenas.  What,  then, 
was  to  be  done  with  these  Bohemians,  Heathens,  Tartars, 
Charami,  Pharaoites,  and  Gitanos — for  by  all  these  titles 


464     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

thej' were  known?  The  Church  was  sorely  puzzled;  but 
the  Church  is  subtle — there  is  no  difficulty  which  they  can- 
not solve,  or  which  they  do  not  strive  to  solve.  They 
deserve  credit  intellectually,  but  what  do  they  deserve 
morall}'?  Let  time  declare ;  I  won't.  They  met  in  secret 
solemn  conclave,  and  passed  a  law  that  all  the  young  gyp- 
sies should  be  forcibly  removed  from  the  contagion  of  their 
parents'  example,  brought  within  the  pale  of  the  Church 
and  saved — whether  they  would  or  not.  For  this  purpose 
they  invoked  the  aid  of  the  civil  power ;  and  the  three 
hundred  soldiers  of  the  king's  guard  who  left  Madrid  were 
part  and  parcel  of  this  contrivance,  though  Captain  Bermu- 
dez  had  heard  otherwise. 

One  night,  about  a  week  after  our  arrival  at  Granada,  I 
strolled  with  the  captain  into  the  gypsy  locality.  As  usual, 
they  were  delighted  to  see  me,  and  they  received  my  com- 
panion with  the  warmest  cordiality.  We  gathered  about  a 
large  fire,  and  song  and  anecdote  went  round  with  light 
hilarity.  Bermudez  told  us  of  Rodrigo  Diaz  de  Bevar,  sur- 
named  the  Cid,  the  mighty  hero  of  the  land ;  how  when 
his  father  was  smitten  by  the  Count  of  Gormaz  in  the  very 
presence  of  the  king,  and  he  called  his  sons  together  for 
vengeance,  all  of  them  were  craven  cowards,  except  the 
youngest,  who  vowed  that  he  would  revenge  in  blood  the 
insult  offered  to  his  ancient  house.  Wherefore  took  he  the 
rusty  sword  of  the  bold  bastard  Madurra,  which  he  found 
in  his  father's  armory,  and  went  forth  in  search  of  the 
fierce  Count.  And  when  he  saw  the  Count  he  challenged 
him  to  deadly  combat ;  but  the  Count  despised  his  youth, 
and  called  him  page,  and  threatened  him  with  the  whip. 
Whereupon  the  bold  Rodrigo  rushed  upon  him  with  his 
drawn  sword,  and  a  dreadful  fight  ensued ;  and  he  cut  ofi" 
the  Count's  head,  and  carried  it  to  his  father,  who  was 
oyerjoyed  at  his  son's  bravery,  and  placed  him  before  all 
his  other  sons  at  the  head  of  his  table  in  token  of  superi- 


\ 

EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU,     4G5 

ority.  Then  Ximerra,  the  daughter  of  Count  Gormaz,  onco 
and  twice,  and  tiirice,  and  twenty  times,  besought  the  king 
to  wreak  vengeance  upon  the  young  man  ;  but  King  Ferdi- 
nand consented  not,  for  he  feared  his  people,  who  were  all . 
enamoured  with  the  youthful  knight  and  his  bold  exploit ; 
and  it  were  as  much  as  his  crown  were  worth  to  offer 
violence  to  that  chivalric  head.  And  Ximerra,  in  the  lapse 
of  days,  herself  softened  towards  Rodrigo;  and,  as  he  had 
made  her  an  orphan,  besought  the  king  that  he  would  com- 
mand him  to  protect  her ;  whereupon  she  became  his  wife, 
and  he  loved  her  as  his  own  soul  unto  his  d3'ing  day.  And 
after  these  things  the  Cid  went  forth  and  fought  the  Moors 
at  Estremadura,  and  won  to  his  own  share  two  hundred 
horses,  and  a  hundred  thousand  golden  marks ;  but  none 
of  these  did  he  retain,  but  gave  them  all  among  his  men. 
And  when  the  haughty  Emperor  of  Germany  proclaimed 
war  against  the  Sovereign  of  Castile,  because  he  alone  of 
the  kings  in  Christendom  refused  to  give  him  tribute,  then 
did  my  Cid  go  forth,  and  with  eight  thousand  men  he 
crushed  the  army  of  the  Emperor  on  the  plains  of  France. 
Nor  did  he  cease  to  harass  him  until  he  begged  the  Pope 
to  interfere,  and  save  him  from  all  further  molestation. 
And  after  these  things  my  Cid  was  banished ;  but  still  he 
fought  against  the  Moors,  and  having  won  two  might}'  for- 
tresses, he  sent  the  spoil  to  King  Alfonso,  who  now  sat 
upon  the  proud  Castilian  throne ;  and  many  other  mighty 
achievements  did  my  Cid  perform  until  the  king  restored 
him  to  his  favor,  and  the  court  was  once  again  brightened 
by  his  presence.  Then  did  my  Cid  again  wend  out  and 
vanquish  many  Moorish  armies,  until  the  whole  earth  rang 
with  his  renown;  and  no  knight  whatever  could  be  found 
to  charge  against  him  in  mortal  combat ;  and  the  haughty 
Persian  Soldan  sent  him  an  ambassador  in  token  of  his 
great  deeds ;  whereu[)on  my  Cid  said  unto  him — "  Welcome 
thou  unto  my  city  of  Valencia;  were  thy  master  a  Chris- 


466     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

tian  with  great  joy  would  I  go  to  his  land  and  visit  him." 
And  the  Paynim  prince  returned  home,  marvelling  much 
at  the  wealth  and  power  and  glorious  valor  of  my  lord  the 
Cid.  And  when  my  Cid  was  dying  Saint  Peter  himself 
appeared  before  him,  and  welcomed  him  to  paradise,  and 
my  Cid  was  pleased ;  and  because  the  Pagan  Moors  then 
besieged  Valencia,  he  ordered  his  corpse  to  be  set  on  horse- 
back, and  to  charge  the  enemy  with  his  old  and  conquering 
banner,  the  which  indeed  was  done ;  and  when  the  Pay- 
nims  saw  the  stately  form  of  the  dead  Cid,  as  his  horse  was 
led  into  the  vanguard  of  the  fight,  behold  they  were  stricken 
dead  aghast,  and  fled  in  pale  terror.  Then  was  the  sainted 
body  of  my  Cid  buried  in  the  Chapel  of  San  Pedro  de  Car- 
dina,  and  many  a  miracle  was  wrought  before  his  tomb. 

All  this  Bermudez  told  us  in  recitative ;  and  thei'e  was  a 
strange  charm  in  the  wild  strain,  which  produced  a  mar- 
vellous effect  on  his  listeners.  We  were  in  the  midst  of 
these  amusements,  when  all  the  watch-dogs  set  up  a  fierce 
and  simultaneous  barking.  Some  of  the  gj'psies  went  out 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  returned  with  fear  and 
trembling.  As  a  body,  the  gypsies  are  sad  cowards ;  and 
they  will  endure  almost  any  thing  with  impunity.  But 
when  they  are  urged  on  to  combat  by  others,  then  indeed 
they  fight  like  so  many  devils.  It  happened  now,  however, 
that  they  were  wholly  panic-stricken.  The  scouts  who  had 
gone  forth  reported  that  we  were  surrounded  by  at  least  a 
thousand  men,  consisting  of  soldiers  of  the  royal  guard, 
and  officials  of  the  Holy  Inquisition.  And  soon  the 
women's  screams  informed  us  that  the  horrid  work  of 
spoliation  had  commenced.  Prom  every  cave  and  corner 
resounded  wild  and  melancholy  shrieks.  The  grief  and 
fury  of  the  Gitanos  knew  no  bounds.  They  raved  like 
mad  things ;  but  the  soldiers  and  familiars  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion executed  their  office  without  stay  or  compunction. 
All  the  children  were  gathered  together,  hastily  aroused 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      467 

from  their  sleep,  and  naked  as  they  were  born,  and  were 
driven  like  so  many  goats  into  one  place.  In  vain  their 
mothers  besought  these  hardened  wretches  to  let  them  have 
a  last  kiss  or  embrace  of  these  lost  ones.  Every  request 
of  that  nature  was  sternly  refused ;  and  the  gypsy  mothers 
were  in  despair.  When  every  tent  and  cave  was  thoroughly 
despoiled  of  all  the  J'oung  Gitanos  of  either  sex,  and  under 
ten  years  old,  some  of  the  soldiers  and  familiars  advanced 
towards  us.  I  need  not  say  that  both  Bermudez  and  my- 
self had  done  all  we  could  to  animate  the  Zingari  to  defend 
their  children;  but  a  torpor  of  terror  seemed  to  have  thor- 
oughly cowed  them ;  and  they  remained  inactive,  drooping, 
and  afraid,  setting  up  only  fierce  and  angry  cries  which 
had  no  effect  upon  the  spoilers,  except  to  increase  their 
passions  into  fury,  and  to  induce  them  to  maltreat  the 
poor  creatures  whom  they  had  so  rudely  seized.  Bermu- 
dez, seeing  them  coming,  stood  firm ;  nor  did  he  blench  in 
the  least.     A  person  in  command  addressed  him. 

"And  you.  Sir  Gypsy,  how  dare  you  kick  against  the 
king's  edict?  Were  I  not  disposed  to  mercy,  I  should 
shoot  you  like  a  wolf." 

"As  you  please.  Sir  Soldier,"  replied  Bermudez,  "but  I 
only  did  what  was  my  duty — to  protest  against  this  hellish 
act." 

"And  who  the  devil  may  you  be,"  asked  the  other,  "that 
you  dare  address  me  in  this  language?" 

"That  matters  not,"  answered  Bermudez,  turning  away; 
"you  shall  perhaps  know  at  some  other  time." 

One  of  the  familiars  now  came  forward,  and  looked  care- 
fully at  the  captain.  After  scrutinizing  him  some  moments, 
he  turned  and  whispered  to  the  oflScer  in  command.  The 
latter  started,  and  cried  out: 

"  Ah  1  sayst  thou  so  indeed  ?  This  must  be  looked  to. 
Soldiers,  seize  this  man."  And  in  a  moment  Bermudea 
was  seized  and  bound. 


468      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  I  am  told,"  said  his  captor,  "  that  you  are  the  notoiious 
bandit,  Bermudez." 

"  Whosoever  I  am,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  am  not  likely, 
after  this  insult,  to  give  you  any  information." 

"  Lead  him  away,"  said  the  officer,  "  bind  his  hands  and 
legs,  and  take  care  that  he  escapes  not.  Let  him  have  a 
guard  of  six  soldiers,  and  I  swear,  by  Heaven,  that  if  he 
eludes  them  they  shall  be  shot."  And  it  was  done  as  he 
commanded.     He  then  turned  to  me. 

"  And  who  may  you  be,  young  sir  ?"  he  questioned. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  an 
Englishman  travelling  in  this  country  for  my  own  pleasure." 

"  And  what  brings  you,  Senor  Englishman,  among  thieves 
and  g3^psies  ?" 

"  That,  Captain,  is  my  own  affair — not  yours." 

"  Let  me  see  your  passport,"  said  he. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  none. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  it  will  be  my  duty  to 
apprehend  you." 

One  of  the  familiars  again  came  forward ;  he  was  the 
same  fellow  who  had  already  pointed  out  Bermudez,  and 
he  seemed  to  know  every  thing.  He  held  a  paper  in  his 
hand;  he  looked  at  it  and  me  attentivel}',  comparing  my 
personal  appearance  with  what  was  there  written.  He  then 
spoke  apart  to  the  officer,  and  showed  him  the  paper.  After 
some  whispering  the  familiar  came  forward. 

"  Is  your  name  Montagu  ?"  he  said. 

I  was  so  suddenly  questioned  that  without  thinking  I 
answered — 

«  Yes." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  you  will  come  with  us." 

I  was  obliged  to  go.  The  following  chapter  will  explain 
why. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     469 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

No.  I. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  the 
10th  day  of  August,  1734,  present,  the  Inquisitor  Dr.  Do- 
mingo Abbad  Y  Iluerta,  oflBciatiug  alone  in  liis  morning 
audience,  having  examined  the  information  received  against 
Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  native  of  London  in  England, 
ordered  that  tlie  above-named  person  be  arrested  and  con- 
fined in  the  secret  prison  of  this  Palace  of  the  Inquisition 
for  the  purpose  of  accomplishing  fully  the  ends  of  justice, 
and  that  his  trial  be  instituted  in  form,  for  which  end  let 
the  necessary  steps  be  taken. 

Before  me, 

Mattheo  Magre, 

Secretary. 
To  Francisco  Coll,  Commissary, 

1.  On  the  receipt  of  this  you  will  proceed  to  take  pris- 
oner on  the  part  of  this  Holy  Office,  Edward  Wortley 
Montagu,  a  native  of  London.  He  is  a  tall,  long-faced 
person,  with  a  commanding  brow,  pale,  with  a  dark  but 
slight  beard,  piercing  eyes,  and  good  presence ;  he  speaks 
Spanish  well,  and  is  supposed  to  be  wandering  through  the 
country  parts  of  this  province  in  a  disguise;  having  secured 
him  and  divested  him  of  every  kind  of  offensive  weapon, 
you  will  despatch  him  under  good  attendance  to  this  Holy 
Office  by  the  hands  of  Familiars,  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
cannot  escape;  taking  measures  in  all  the  places* through 
which  he  may  pass  to  let  it  be  known  he  is  apprehended 
by  this  Inquisition. 

2.  Also,  if  occasion  should  offer,  you  will  seize  so  much 
of  his  property  as  shall  be  sufficient  for  his  maintenance, 
which  you  will  transmit  by  those  who  have  him  in  custody. 

8.  The  prisoner  being  taken,  you  will  inspect  his  person 
30 


470     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU. 

and  his  lodgings,  in  order  to  secure  a  book  about  the  size 
of  the  hand,  in  which  it  is  confidently  believed  there  are 
certain  prayers  and  superstitious  matters.  This  book  you 
will  despatch  to  us. 

4.  Also  all  papers  and  instruments  found  upon  him,  as 
well  as  those  which  may  be  found  in  his  baggage,  are  to  be 
seized.  Care  should  be  taken  that  he  may  have  no  time  to 
conceal  any  thing. 

6.  You  will  then  transport  him  to  this  city,  which  he  will 
enter  at  dusk,  just  befoi-e  the  gates  are  shut.  You  will 
enter  at  the  Gate  of  St.  James's,  and  present  the  accom- 
panying passport  of  the  Governor  to  the  officer  of  the 
Guard.    God  preserve  you. 

6.  This  letter  is  to  be  returned  with  a  statement  of  all 
that  may  have  been  done  agreeably  to  the  above  orders. 
With  respect  to  which  we  trust  in  the  guidance  of  our 
Lord. 

By  order  of  this  Holy  Office, 

Doctor  Domingo  Abbad  Y  Huebta, 
Mattheo  Maqre,  Secretary. 

No.  II. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  this  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  tht> 
10th  day  of  September,  1734,  in  the  morning,  the  Inquisi- 
tor, Doctor  Domingo  Abbad  Y  Huerta,  being  at  his  morn- 
ing audience,  appeared  according  to  summons,  Padre  Juan 
Baptista  Lopez  and  Padre  Augustin  de  Vinaros,  and  swore 
fairly  to  declare  the  truth.  And  fii*st,  Padre  Francisco 
Liges,  Chief  Abbot. 

Questioned.  If  he  knew  or  conjectured  the  cause  of  his 
being  summoned  to  appear  ? 

Answered.    That  he  neither  knew  nor  conjectured. 

Questioned.  If  he  knew  or  had  heard  that  any  person 
had  spoken  or  done  any  thing  which  was  or  appeared  con- 
trary to  our  Holy  Catholic  Faith  and  evangelical  doctrine 


EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  471 

preached  and  taught  by  the  Holy  Catholic  Roman  Church, 
or  against  the  just  and  free  exercise  of  the  Holy  Office  ? 

Answered.  That  about  eight  months  since,  or  there- 
abouts, the  deponent  being  moved  by  charity,  did  take  in 
and  receive  into  the  Monastery  of  Mercy,  at  Biscay,  one 
Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  in  the  hope  of  baptizing  him 
into  the  holy  bosom  of  the  sacred  Catholic  Church,  the  said 
E.  W.  M.  then  and  there  professing  an  ardent  desire  to 
know  the  true  doctrines  of  the  Faith.  And  the  deponent 
from  that  time  until  the  fraudulent  flight  of  the  said  E.  W. 
M.,  did  teach  him  all  the  said  truths  and  doctrines  as  well 
as  he  could.  And  the  deponent  verily  believed  that  the 
Baid  E.  W.  M.  was  then  a  sincere  and  worthy  believer  in 
the  truths  and  doctrines.  But  on  the  eve  of  St.  Epimachus 
last,  the  deponent  happening  by  chance  to  enter  the  cell 
of  E.  W.  M.,  found  him  seated  at  a  table  with  some  bacon 
before  him,  but  when  or  how  procured  the  deponent  doth 
not  know.  And  the  deponent  then  and  there  informed  the 
said  E.  W.  M.  that  it  was  now  the  eve  of  a  most  holy  fes- 
tival, and  that  it  was  positively  forbidden  by  the  church 
that  any  such  food  or  any  flesh  meat  whatever  should  be 
eaten.  The  said  E.  W.  M.  answered  that  he  meant  to  eat 
notwithstanding,  and  the  deponent  asked  him  whether  he 
had  a  license  so  to  do,  or  any  infirmity ;  to  which  the  said 
E.  W.  M.  answered,  mockingly,  "  I  have  a  license  from 
myself,  and  a  sad  infirmity  called  appetite;"  and  thereupon 
proceeded  to  eat  the  said  meat.  This  is  the  truth  accord- 
ing to  the  oath  of  the  witness,  and  being  read  in  his  pres- 
ence, is  declared  by  him  to  be  correctly  recorded,  and  was 
thereupon  signed  with  his  name  in  his  own  hand.  The 
deponent  furtljer  states  that  he  does  not  make  this  declara- 
tion out  of  malice ;  and  secrecy  being  enjoined  upon  him 
he  promised  to  observe  it. 
And  second.  Padre  Antonio  Mira  being  questioned,  &c., 
Answered.  That  he  supposed  it  to  be  for  the  purpose  of 


472     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

ascertaining  whether  a  certain  Edward  Wortley  Montagu 
had  done  ought  which  was  or  appeared  to  be  contrary  to 
our  Holy  Catholic  Faith,  and  evangelical  doctrine,  concern- 
ing which  this  deponent  testified  that  about  four  months 
since,  being  in  the  cell  of  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  this  deponent 
heard  him  say  that  he  was  as  great  as  God,  and  that  he 
had  a  book,  which,  being  put  into  the  fire  along  with  a 
crucifix,  would  remain  unhurt,  while  the  crucifix  would  be 
consumed,  which  words  being  uttered  with  much  earnest- 
ness by  him,  the  deponent  was  greatly  shocked  and  fright- 
ened, and  advised  him  to  abstain  from  such  speeches,  as 
they  were  scandalous ;  and  should  the}-  come  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  Inquisition,  would  bring  punishment  upon  him. 
But  the  said  E.  W.  M.  repeated  his  assertions  several 
times;  but  at  length  desisted,  and  appeared  somewhat 
alarmed  at  the  rebukes  which  this  deponent  gave  him,  and 
turned  pale.  The  book  was  a  small  book,  about  the  size 
of  the  hand,  but  thick,  and  was  read  by  the  said  E.  "W.  M. 
in  great  secrecy,  as  if  he  were  at  prayer.  The  above  is  the 
truth,  according  to  the  oath  of  the  deponent ;  and  being 
read  in  his  presence,  is  declared  by  him  to  be  correctly  re- 
corded, and  signed  with  his  oavu  hand.  He  further  states, 
that  he  does  not  make  this  declaration  out  of  malice,  and 
promises  to  observe  secrecy. 

And  third,  Padre  Juan  Baptista  Lopez,  being  ques- 
tioned, &c.. 

Answered.  That  he  supposed  it  to  be  for  the  purpose  of 
ascertaining  the  truth  respecting  the  life  and  conduct  of  a 
certain  Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  concerning  which  this 
deponent  testifies  that  during  the  whole  period  of  his  so- 
journ in  the  Monastery  of  Mercy,  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  though 
often  requested,  did  not  once  confess  himself;  but  on  being 
rebuked,  and  advised  to  confess,  he  broke  out  into  blas- 
phemies against  God  and  his  Saints,  with  such  violence, 
that  he  appeared  more  like  a  demoniac  than  any  thing  else. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     473 

It  being  suggested  to  him  that  God  did  not  prosper  him, 
because  he  did  not  attend  mass,  or  wear  a  rosary,  nor  hear 
sermons,  nor  confess,  but  swore,-  and  blasphemed ;  and  that 
if  the  Holy  Inquisition  Icnew  of  it,  he  would  be  apprehended, 
he  replied  that  the  Devil  must  help  him;  tliat  he  did  not 
care  for  the  Inquisition,  and  would  not  confess,  and  that 
God  gave  him  nothing  which  the  Devil  would  not  give. 
The  deponent  had  asked  him  why  he  did  not  confess,  ob- 
serving that  to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  a  confessor  and  relate 
his  sins  was  to  relate  them  to  God;  and  the  said  E.  W.  M. 
replied  that  this  was  all  babble,  and  he  believed  just  as  he 
pleased.  Some  one  asking  him  if  he  was  not  afraid  of 
dying,  he  replied  that  if  he  knew  there  was  a  tavern  in  the 
other  world  he  should  wish  to  die  immediately.  He  de- 
clared it  was  nonsense  to  relate  one's  sins  to  a  confessor, 
and  that  a  man  should  tell  of  nothing  but  what  he  pleased. 
At  one  time  he  went  to  bed  after  tiring  himself  with  swear- 
ing, and  told  the  convent  next  day  that  a  woman,  a  monkey, 
and  a  young  man  then  in  the  house,  had  appeared  to  him 
in  bed,  scratched  his  face  all  over,  and  thrown  him  down 
stairs.  The  deponent  believed  that  this  had  been  done  by 
tlie  Devil,  from  his  mentioning  him  so  often. 

The  deponent  further  declared  that  on  making  a  full 
confession  last  month  of  all  his  sins,  and  his  own  negli- 
gence in  denouncing  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  he  was  directed  to 
give  information  of  the  whole  to  this  Holy  Office,  and  was 
refused  absolution  unless  he  complied,  and  that  there  were 
many  more  things  to  be  told,  which  he  could  not  recollect, 
as  they  happened  long  since. 

The  above  is  the  truth  according  to  the  oath  of  the  de- 
ponent, and  is  stated  by  him,  not  out  of  malice,  but  solely 
to  discharge  his  conscience.  It  was  read  to  him,  and  he 
declared  it  to  be  faithfully  recorded,  and  signed  it  witli  his 
proper  name. 


474      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

And  fourth,  Padre  Augustin  de  Vinaros  being  ques- 
tioned, &C. 

Answered.  That  he  supposed  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  information  to  the  Holy  Office  respecting  a  certain 
E.  W.  M.  On  tlie  evening  of  the  last  day  in  May,  this 
person,  being  in  company  of  the  deponent,  declared  in  con- 
versation with  the  deponent,  that  he  possessed  the  faculty 
of  discovering  the  thief  when  a  thing  was  stolen.  This  he 
had  performed  in  the  following  manner.  The  deponent  a 
long  while  ago  had  lost  a  cei"tain  rosary,  and  suspected 
four  or  five  persons  of  the  theft.  E.  W.  M.  said  he  would 
discover  the  thief.  He  then  wrote  the  names  of  all  the 
persons  suspected,  upon  separate  pieces  of  paper,  and 
threw  them  into  the  fire.  Those  which  contained  the 
names  of  the  innocent  were  consumed,  but  that  containing 
the  name  of  the  one  against  whom  this  deponent  had  the 
strongest  suspicion  remained.  Nobody  was  able  to  take 
this  out  of  the  fire  except  E.  W.  M.  The  paper  was  kept 
from  consuming  by  the  power  of  the  words  Christo  Senor 
NuestrOj  uttered  by  him;  and  it  was  drawn  out  from 
among  the  coals  by  the  help  of  this  expression:  1,  Ugo  Sum; 
2,  Factus  est  homo;  3,  Consummatum  est.  Besides  this, 
he  said,  he  knew  another  way  of  practising  his  divination ; 
and  this  was,  to  collect  the  ashes  made  by  the  papers,  and 
rub  them  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  where  they  would  leave 
marked  the  name  of  the  thief.  This  deponent  thereupon 
rebuked  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  who  replied  that  what  he  had 
said  and  done  he  would  saj''  and  do  even  before  the  Inqui- 
sition. Proc-eeding  in  conversation  with  the  deponent,  he 
told  him  that  lie  had  some  instruments  in  his  pockets  which 
were  useful  for  many  things.  He  then  drew  from  his  right 
pocket  a  paper  folded  up,  and  containing  two  or  three  coils 
of  something  which  the  deponent  did  not  see  distinctly  on 
account  of  the  darkness,  but  felt  and  handled  them.  The 
deponent  asked  the  said  E.  W.  M.  where  he  had  obtained 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     475 

the  above  knowledge.  He  replied  that  he  had  got  it  by 
studying  a  book  of  Magic  which  he  possessed ;  that  he  had 
learned  from  this  the  secret  of  making  himself  invisible, 
and  also  to  render  a  man  invulnerable  to  thrusts  with  a 
sword.  The  said  E.  W.  M.  came  to  the  cell  of  this  depo- 
nent next  day,  and  after  some  conversation  gave  him  a  slip 
of  parchment  almost  a  finger's  breadth  wide,  and  above  a 
span  long;  this  was  slit  through  the  middle  lengthwise, 
and  had  written  on  it  the  following  words : — Ego  +  sum. 
Ecce  +  homo  -f  Gonsummatum  est  +.  This  was  rolled 
up  in  lead  with  a  small  piece  of  bone,  and  the  said  E.  W. 
M.  told  the  deponent  to  wear  it  in  the  shape  of  a  cross 
next  to  his  skin,  near  the  heart,  and  it  would  shield  him 
effectually  from  all  thrusts  with  a  sword.  It  was  exhibited 
by  the  deponent. 

The  said  E.  W.  M.  also  gave  this  deponent  another  slip 
of  parchment  of  half  a  finger  in  breadth  and  two  yards 
long.  At  one  extremity  was  drawn  with  ink  a  leg  and 
foot,  and  at  the  other  a  heart  with  a  cross  above  it.  Other 
figures  and  letters  were  drawn  in  diflferent  parts.  With 
this  he  proceeded  to  take  divers  measurements  upon  the 
body  of  the  deponent,  as  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other, 
from  the  shoulder  to  the  chin  and  nose,  &c.  This  he  in- 
formed liim  would  secure  him  from  being  wounded,  if  he 
used  it  in  the  following  manner.  He  was  to  rub  it  with 
the  wax  which  dropped  from  the  tapers  during  the  celebra- 
tion of  mass.  Tills  was  to  be  done  on  nine  several  days 
during  mass,  keeping  it  under  his  cloak,  and  taking  care 
that  no  one  saw  him.  Afterwards  it  was  to  be  worn  in 
the  shape  of  a  cross  next  the  skin  near  the  heart.  He  gave 
him  at  the  same  time  three  bits  of  parchment,  each  about 
three  fingers'  breadth  long,  and  one  wide.  Two  of  these 
contained  each  two  lines  of  writing,  and  the  other  three. 
These  were  severally  numbered  on  the  back  1,  2,  3.  To 
these  was  added  another  very  small,  also  written  over.     Ho 


476      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

informed  liim  that  by  the  help  of  these  he  could  perform 
any  kind  of  divination;  and  that  if  he  wore  the  thinnest 
of  these  parchments  upon  his  left  little  finger  under  a  white 
Btone  set  in  a  ring,  he  would  be  directed  by  it  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner.  Whenever  the  stone  turned  red,  he  might 
play  at  any  game  which  was  going  on,  except  dice  or  quil- 
las,  and  be  sure  to  gain ;  but  if  the  stone  turned  black,  he 
would  lose  by  playing.  Before  any  such  use,  however,  was 
made  of  the  parchments,  he  was  directed  to  put  them  in 
the  shoe  of  his  left  foot  near  the  ankle,  and  to  sprinkle  them 
with  the  water  used  by  the  priest  at  mass.  These  parch- 
ments were  also  exliibited.  The  deponent  requested  the 
said  E.  W.  M.  to  show  him  the  Book  of  Magic,  but  he  de- 
clined, alleging  that  the  deponent  could  not  read  or  under- 
stand it. 

This  deponent  further  says,  that  in  consequence  of  these 
statements  of  the  prisoner,  the  deponent  one  da^'  assembled 
certain  monks  in  his  cell,  among  whom  was  the  person 
whom  this  deponent  violently  suspected  of  having  stolen 
the  rosary  aforesaid.  The  prisoner  then  said  that  each 
one  present  must  put  his  finger  into  a  cup  of  water,  and 
that  the  water  would  blacken  the  finger  of  the  thief;  and 
he  showed  them  a  cup  containing  a  quantity  of  clear  water. 
They  all  agreed  to  the  proposal,  and  the  room  was  shut  up, 
so  as  to  exclude  every  ray  of  light.  When  the  doors  were 
again  opened,  they  found  every  man's  finger  black  but  that 
of  one.  Tlie  prisoner  perceiving  this,  and  observing  the 
agitation  which  he  manifested,  exclaimed  to  him,  "  You 
are  the  thief,"  and  the  said  person  in  his  fright  confessed 
the  robbery.  And  the  deponent  believes  that  this  was  in- 
deed done  by  the  poAver  of  Satan,  and  no  other. 

Questioned.  If  he  knew  or  had  heard  that  the  said  E.  W. 
M.  had  any  temporary  insanity,  or  was  given  to  wine  ? 

Answered.  That  he  knew  not.  He  averred  that  the  whole 
of  the  declaration  was  the  truth,  and  not  uttered  by  him 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      477 

from  malice  or  ill-feeling,  but  solely  in  obedience  to  his 
conscience  and  oath.  Secrecy  was  promised  by  him,  and 
he  added  his  signature. 

No.  III. 

First  Audience. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  the 
10th  day  of  October,  1734,  Doctor  Domingo  Abbad  Y 
Huerta  being  at  his  morning  audience,  ordered  the  pris- 
oner to  be  brought  from  his  cell,  who,  being  produced,  was 
sworn  to  declare  the  truth  on  the  present  as  well  as  on  all 
other  occasions  till  the  decision  of  his  trial.  He  was  also 
sworn  to  observe  secrec}'  with  respect  to  every  thing  which 
he  might  see,  hear  or  learn,  and  every  thing  which  should 
befal  him. 

Questioned.  What  was  his  name,  age,  occupation,  birth- 
place, residence,  and  the  period  of  his  arrestation  by  the 
Holy  Office. 

Answered.  That  his  name  was  Edward  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu, aged  twenty -two ;  of  no  occupation ;  native  of  Lon- 
don, in  England;  and  that  he  was  arrested  six  weeks  ago 
by  the  Commissaries  of  the  Holy  Office  in  the  ravine  of 
Los  Molinos. 

Questioned.  Who  was  his  father,  grandfather,  paternal 
and  maternal,  and  wife  ?  Who  were  his  uncles,  brothers 
and  children?  What  were  their  occupations,  birthplaces 
and  residences  ?  [Here  follows  an  account  in  answer  to 
these  questions,  which  I  suppress.] 

Questioned.  What  was  the  origin  and  descent  of  his 
ancestors  and  collateral  relatives,  and  whether  any  one  of 
them  had  been  punished,  or  put  under  penance  by  the  Holy 
Office  of  the  Inquisition  ?  [The  answers  to  these  questions 
follow  here,  but  are  not  material,  wherefore  1  suppress  them.] 

Questioned,  If  he  could  read  or  write,  or  had  studied 
much,  and  in  what  science  or  faculty  ? 


478     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Answered.  That  he  conld  read  and  write,  but  had  not 
studied  much  in  anjj^  particular  science. 

Questioned.  If  he  had  any  dealings  with  persons  of 
equivocal  faith  ? 

Answered.  That  he  had  lived  for  some  time  among  the 
Gitanos. 

Questioned.  What  were  the  events  of  his  life?  [The 
answers  to  this  the  reader  may  surmise,  wherefore  I  sup- 
press them  as  superfluous.] 

Questioned.  If  he  knew  or  conjectured  the  cause  of  his 
imprisonment  ? 

Answered.  That  he  knew  not,  nor  could  conjecture,  un- 
less it  was  for  this,  that  he  had  fled  from  the  Monastery 
of  Mercy,  at  Biscay. 

The  prisoner  was  then  informed  that  in  this  Holy  Oflflce 
it  was  not  customary  to  imprison  any  person  without  suflS- 
cient  information ;  that  he  had  committed  or  had  been  seen 
to  have  committed  some  act  which  was,  or  appeared  to  be, 
contrary  to  our  Holy  Catholic  Faith  and  Evangelical  doc- 
trine, which  is  taught  and  professed  by  our  Holy  Mother 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  or  against  the  proper  and  free 
jurisdiction  of  the  Holy  Oflfice;  for  which  reason  he  was 
to  understand  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  some  such  in- 
formation that  he  had  been  apprehended,  and  on  this 
account  he  was  exhorted  on  the  part  of  God  our  Lord,  and 
his  glorious  and  blessed  Mother  the  Yirgin  Mary,  to  be- 
think himself  well  and  confess  the  whole  truth.  Where- 
upon he  was  remanded  to  prison. 

1^0.  IV. 

Second  Audience. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  the 
10th  da}'  of  November,  1734.  Doctor  Domingo  Abbad  Y 
Huerta  and  Dr.  Bernardo  Luis  Cotoner  being  at  their 
morning  audience,  ordered   the  prisoner  to  be  brought 


BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     479 

from  his  cell,  which  being  done,  and  the  prisoner  present, 
he  was — 

Questioned.  If  he  remembered  any  thing  relating  to  his 
affairs  which  he  was  bound  to  state,  according  to  his  con- 
science ? 

Answered.   That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

Tiie  prisoner  was  then  informed  that  he  had  been  already 
in  a  former  audience  exhorted  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  and 
his  glorious  and  blessed  Mother  the  Virgin  Mary,  to  be- 
tliink  himself  well  and  unburthen  his  conscience  by  declar- 
ing the  whole  truth  respecting  all  which  he  had  done,  said, 
seen  or  heard,  offensive  against  God,  or  contrary  in  reality 
or  appearance  to  His  Holy  Catholic  Faith,  and  Evangeli- 
cal Doctrine,  taught  and  professed  by  the  Holy  Mother 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  or  against  the  proper  and  free 
jurisdiction  of  the  Holy  Office,  without  testifying  any  thing 
false.  By  following  this  direction  he  would  have  his  trial 
despatched  with  all  possible  brevity  and  mercy;  but  if 
not,  justice  should  be  executed  upon  him. 

Answered.  That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say.  He  was 
then  admonished,  and  remanded  to  prison. 

No.  V. 
Third  Audience. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  at  Seville,  on  the 
lOtli  da}'  of  December,  1734.  The  Inquisitors,  Dr.  Domingo 
Abbad  Y  Ilucrta,  Dr.  Bernardo  Luis  Cotoner,  and  Joseph 
de  Otero  Y  Corsio,  being  at  their  morning  audience,  ordered 
the  prisoner  to  be  brought  from  his  cell,  which  being  done, 
and  tlie  prisoner  present,  he  was — 

Questioned.  If  he  remembered  any  thing  relating  to  his 
affair,  which  he  was  bound  by  his  conscience  to  declare  ? 

Answered.   That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

The  prisoner  was  then  notified  that  the  Promoter  Fiscal 


480     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

of  this  Holy  OflSce  had  an  accusation  to  bring  against  him, 
before  which  he  would  do  well  to  declare  the  whole  truth, 
as  he  had  already  been  admonished,  in  which  case  he  would 
more  fully  experience  the  mercy  which  the  Holy  Office 
extends  to  those  who  confess  freely ;  otherwise  the  Fiscal 
would  attend  and  proceed  to  the  accusation ;  and  justice 
be  executed. 

Answered.     That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

Straightway  appeared  Dr.  Francisco  Gregorio,  Promoter 
Fiscal  of  this  Holy  Office,  and  presented  the  accusation, 
signed  by  himself,  against  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  making  oath 
that  it  was  not  done  out  of  malice ;  which  accusation  was 
as  follows : 

Accusation. 

I,  Dr.  Francisco  Gregorio,  Fiscal  of  this  Holy  Office, 
appear  before  your  Excellencies,  and  accuse  criminally 
Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  a  native  of  London,  in  England, 
resident  in  this  principality,  attached  to  the  secret  prison 
of  the  Inquisition,  and  now  present,  stating  that  the  said 
person,  being  a  baptized  and  confirmed  Christian,  and 
enjojdng  the  graces  and  benefits  which  such  persons  do 
and  ought  to  enjoy,  not  having  the  fear  of  God  before 
his  eyes,  but  regardless  of  his  own  conscience  and 
the  justice  administered  by  your  Excellencies,  has  com- 
mitted offences  against  our  Holy  Faith,  by  saying  and 
performing  things  which  savor  of  the  heretic  Luther,  and 
by  utteriug  superstitious  and  blasphemous  speeches,  and 
compacting  with  the  Devil,  and  by  blaspheming  and  deny- 
ing God  our  Lord,  seeking  favor  and  help  from  devils,  and 
by  professing  and  practising  various  necromantical  arts 
with  insult  to  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  its  sacred 
ceremonies,  and  the  Holy  Cross,  and  doing  other  things  in 
the  manner  following: 

1.  The  said  prisoner,  being  in  a  certain  Monastery  in 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.      481 

the  province  of  Biscay,  did  procure  a  dish  of  bacon,  and 
being  reminded  to  take  heed,  for  it  was  a  fast  and  such 
food  was  forbidden,  did  nevertlieless  proceed  to  eat  the 
same,  and  mocked  and  derided  the  person  who  had  so 
warned  him. 

2.  Furthei-more,  the  said  prisoner  being  of  a  nation 
infected  with  heresy,  it  is  presumed  that  he  has  on  many 
other  occasions  eaten  flesh  on  forbidden  days,  after  the 
manner  of  the  sect  of  Luther,  and  committed  many  other 
offences  against  our  Holy  Faith,  besides  knowing  that 
others  have  committed  the  same  offences;  and  the  said 
prisoner  having  been  admonished  by  your  Excellencies  to 
declare  the  truth,  has  not  done  it,  but  has  perjured  him- 
self. 

3.  The  said  prisoner  likewise  declared  that  he  possessed 
a  Book,  which,  if  it  were  thrown  into  a  fire  along  with  a 
crucifix,  would  remain  unhurt,  while  the  crucifix  would  be 
consumed. 

4.  From  the  above,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  the  said 
prisoner  has  uttered  many  other  superstitious  and  blas- 
phemous speeches,  and  done  many  other  things  appertain- 
ing to  the  Devil ;  also,  that  he  is  cognizant  of  the  commis- 
sion by  others  of  many  such  crimes,  the  whole  of  which  he 
has  maliciously  concealed. 

5.  The  said  prisoner,  while  he  resided  in  the  Monastery 
aforesaid,  could  not  be  persuaded  to  confess,  although  he 
received  many  admonitions  to  that  effect,  but  remained 
careless  of  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  And  the  said  pris- 
oner being  rebuked  therefor,  blasphemed  God  and  the 
Saints  with  such  fury  and  malice  that  he  appeared  like  a 
demoniac.  Being  threatened  with  a  punishment  from  the 
Inquisition,  he  replied  that  he  did  not  care  for  the  Inquisi- 
tion, and  that  he  would  not  confess ;  also,  that  he  wanted 
nothing  from  God  which  the  Devil  could  not  give  him. 

6.  He  says  that  he  does  not  fear  God,  and  that  if  he 


482     BDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

knew  there  was  a  tavern  in  the  other  world,  he  should  not 
care  if  he  died. 

T.  He  said  that  a  man  ought  not  to  tell  his  sins  to  the 
confessor,  and  that  it  was  nonsense  for  a  man  to  tell  any- 
thing but  what  he  pleased. 

8.  Furthermore,  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  the  prisoner 
has  committed  many  other  such  offences  against  our  holy 
Catholic  Faith,  and  uttered  other  blasphemies  and  heretical 
speeches,  as  well  as  known  that  other  persons  have  done 
the  same,  all  which  he  conceals  like  a  bad  Christian. 

9.  The  said  prisoner,  on  a  time  specified,  declared  that 
he  was  able,  when  any  thing  was  stolen,  to  discover  the 
thief,  and,  in  proof  of  this  assertion,  wrote  the  names  of 
certain  other  persons  suspected  of  theft  on  papers,  and, 
putting  the  papers  into  the  fire,  repeated  the  words  :  Ego 
sum ;  Factus  est  homo ;  Consummatum  est.  The  papers 
were  consumed,  except  that  bearing  the  name  of  the  thief. 
No  one  but  the  said  prisoner  could  take  this  paper  out  of 
the  fire. 

10.  Furthermore,  he  asserted  that  he  could  execute  the 
above  purpose  by  rubbing  the  ashes  of  the  papers  upon  his 
hand,  where  it  would  leave  impressed  the  name  of  the  thief. 

11.  Continuing  the  conversation,  he  declared  that  he 
possessed  certain  instruments  of  use  in  various  ways,  and 
in  fact  showed  something  folded  up,  which  he  took  out  of 
his  pocket ;  and,  on  being  asked  whence  he  obtained  the 
knowledge  of  these  arts,  he  replied  that  he  learned  them 
from  a  Book  of  Magic  in  his  possession,  which  enabled  him 
to  do  whatever  he  pleased.  I  request  that  he  may  be  ques- 
tioned with  respect  to  this  Book  of  Magic,  as  well  as  the 
contents  of  the  above-mentioned  envelope. 

12.  He  told  this  person  that  he  could  learn  from  the 
same  book  to  make  himself  invisible,  as  well  as  invulner- 
able to  the  thrust  of  a  sword;   and  used  various  other 


BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.      488 

damnable  speeches  and  devices,  which  I  am  prepared  to 
prove. 

13.  He  furthermore,  by  the  help  of  a  certain  damnable 
device  with  water,  and  the  assistance  of  Satan,  discovered 
a  theft  which  had  been  some  time  previously  committed  in 
the  said  Monastery. 

14.  For  which  reasons  I  request  and  supplicfite  your 
Excellencies  to  admit  my  charges  as  proved,  or  such  a  por- 
tion of  the  same  as  shall  suffice  for  the  ends  of  justice,  in  a 
definitive  sentence,  or  whatever  measure  may  be  taken,  and 
to  declare  my  accusation  fully  proved ;  and  the  said  E.  W. 
M.  guilty  of  the  above-named  abominable  offences;  con- 
demning him  to  the  heaviest  punishments  by  law  thereto 
aflftxed,  and  executing  them  upon  his  person  and  goods; 
by  turning  him  over  to  the  secular  arm  of  justice  as  a  pun 
ishment  to  himself  and  a  terror  to  others.  And  I  request 
that  if  necessary  he  may  be  put  to  the  torture,  and  that 
the  same  be  continued  and  repeated  till  he  confess  the 
whole  truth  of  himself  and  others. 

15.  And  I  formall}'^  swear,  that  I  do  not  present  this  ac- 
cusation out  of  malice;  but  solely  to  accomplish  the  ends 
of  justice,  which  I  request  at  the  hands  of  your  Excellen- 
cies. 

Mattheo  Magre, 

Secretary. 

The  accusation  having  been  presented  and  read,  the  said 
E.  W.  M.  was  formally  sworn  to  declare  the  truth  in  an- 
swer to  every  interrogation  relating  thereto.  The  accusa- 
tion being  read  over,  article  by  article,  he  answered  as 
follows : 

1.  To  the  first  article,  he  confessed  that  it  was  true  that 
he  had  eaten  the  bacon,  but  he  had  a  license  from  the  Abl>ot 
to  do  so,  he  being  an  Englishman  and  a  visitor  in  the  Mon- 
astery of  Biscay;  and  being  excused  by  him  from  conform- 


484     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

ing  to  the  rules  and  customs  of  the  said  Monastery,  so  far 
as  relates  to  food. 

2.  To  the  second  article,  he  said  that  being  an  English- 
man, he  had  alwaj's  eaten  meat  in  his  own  country  when- 
ever he  pleased,  as  he  lawfully  might  do. 

3.  To  the  third  article,  he  said  that  it  was  wholly  false 
and  untrue. 

4.  To  the  fourth  article,  he  said  that  it  was  untrue. 

5.  To  the  fifth  article,  he  said  that  he  did  not  confess, 
being  an  Englishman  and  Protestant,  and  that  he  was  en- 
tertained in  the  same  Monastery  with  full  knowledge  of  his 
country  and  religion.  The  remaining  portion  of  this  article 
he  declared  to  be  wholly  false  and  untrue. 

6.  To  the  sixth  article,  he  said  it  was  false. 

7.  To  the  seventh  article,  he  said  it  was  false. 

8.  To  the  eighth  article,  he  said  it  was  false. 

9.  To  the  ninth  article,  he  said  it  was  wholly  false  and 
untrue.  He  confessed  that  he  had  said  he  knew  a  g3'psy 
who  pretended  to  have  this  power,  but  he  never  professed 
it  himself. 

10.  To  the  tenth  article,  he  gave  the  same  answer. 

11.  To  the  eleventh  article,  he  said  it  was  wholly 
false. 

12.  To  the  twelfth  article,  he  said  that  part  of  it  was 
Mse  and  part  of  it  was  true.  The  true  part  of  it  was  this. 
A  certain  monk  in  the  Monastery  had  lost  a  rosary,  and 
violently  suspected  another  monk  of  the  theft.  The  pris- 
oner, at  his  request,  desired  him  to  ask  the  suspected  per- 
son, together  with  four  or  five  others,  into  his  cell  on  a 
certain  day.  He  did  so,  and  the  object  of  the  meeting  was 
then  explained.  The  prisoner  produced  the  water  and  de- 
clared it  would  blacken  the  finger  of  the  thief.  He  then 
darkened  the  room,  and  introduced  a  quantity  of  ink  into 
the  water,  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the  said  theft,  as 


EDWARD  WOBTLBY  MONTAGU.      485 

he  supposed  the  thief  would  be  the  only  person  of  the  party 
who  would  not  dip  his  finger  in  the  water.  They  all  dipped 
except  one,  and  all  had  their  fingers  blacked ;  the  thief  had 
wet  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  and  it  was  not  blackened. 
Then  the  prisoner  knew  that  this  one  alone  of  all  the 
others  had  been  afraid  to  dip  his  finger  in  the  water,  where- 
upon he  at  once  accused  him  of  the  theft,  and  he  confessed 
it.  But  there  was  no  witchcraft  or  sorcery;  it  was  only  an 
ingenious  device  to  discover  a  rogue.  He  added  that  al- 
though he  were  put  to  the  torture  he  could  say  nothing 
more. 

The  above  having  been  read  to  the  prisoner,  was  declared 
by  him  to  be  correctly  recorded,  and  the  truth  according 
to  the  oath  which  he  had  sworn. 
Signed  by  him, 

Edward  Wortley  Montagu. 

Mattheo  Magre, 

Secretary. 

The  Inquisitors  then  ordered  him  a  copy  of  the  accusa- 
tion, that  he  might  within  three  days  make  arrangements 
for  his  trial  by  conferring  and  agreeing  with  one  of  the 
lawyers  who  are  counsel  for  those  persons  tried  by  the 
Holy  Office,  namely.  Dr.  Magrina,  priest,  and  Father 
Geronymo  Vidal,  Jesuit;  giving  the  prisoner  liberty  to 
make  choice  of  either.  The  prisoner  made  choice  of  Dr. 
Magrina,  on  which  the  Inquisitors  ordered  him  to  be  sum- 
moned. The  audience  then  closed,  and  the  prisoner  being 
admonished,  was  remanded  to  prison. 
Before  us, 

Dr.  Domingo  Abbad  Y  Huerta, 
Dr.  Bernardo  Luis  Cotoner, 
Dr.  Joseph  Db  Otero  Y.  Cossio. 
31 


486      EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

No.  VI. 

AUDIENCE   FOR   COMMUNICATION   OF   THE  ACCUSATION   AND 
EVIDENCE. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  at  Saville,  on  the 
10th  day  of  January,  1735,  the  Inquisitor,  Dr.  Domingo 
Abbad  Y  Huerta,  being  at  his  morning  audience,  ordered 
the  above-named  E.  W.  M.  to  be  brought  from  prison, 
which  being  done,  and  the  prisoner  present,  he  was 

Questioned.  If  he  remembered  any  thing  which  he  was 
bound  to  declare  according  to  the  oath  he  had  sworn  ? 

Answered.     That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

The  prisoner  was  then  informed  that  Dr.  Francisco 
Magrina,  whom  he  had  selected  for  his  counsel,  was  pres- 
ent, with  whom  he  might  confer  and  make  arrangements 
for  his  defence. 

Dr.  Francisco  Magrina  was  then  sworn  in  verbo  sacer- 
dotis,  to  defend  well  and  faithfully  the  said  E.  W.  M. ;  to 
inform  him  if  his  case  was  not  on  the  side  of  justice;  to  do 
every  thing  which  a  good  advocate  is  bound  to  do,  and  to 
preserve  secrecy  throughout. 

Then  were  produced  and  read  the  several  examinations 
of  the  said  E.  W.  M.,  made  from  the  10th  day  of  October, 
1134,  to  the  present  time,  with  the  accusation  and  the  an- 
swers of  the  prisoner.  These  he  examined,  and  conferred 
with  the  prisoner  respecting  his  case,  counselling  him  as  to 
the  best  defence  which  could  be  made — to  confess  the 
whole  truth,  and,  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  any  offence,  to 
beg  for  pardon,  by  which  means  he  might  obtain  mercy. 

The  said  E.  W.  M.  replied,  that  he  had  already  declared 
the  whole  truth,  as  appeared  by  his  confession ;  that,  be- 
yond this,  he  denied  every  thing  contained  in  the  accusa- 
tion, and,  in  consequence,  begged  to  be  acquitted  and  set 
at  liberty. 

The  Inquisition  then  ordered  a  copy  of  the  above  to  be 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     487 

given  to  the  Promoter  Fiscal  of  the  Holy  Office,  who  re- 
quested that  they  might  proceed  to  the  proofs.  The  In- 
quisitor replied  that  the  cause  should  be  judged  definitely, 
and  the  proofs  on  both  sides  received  salvo  juve  imperti- 
nentium  et  non  adviitlendorum,  according  to  the  style  of 
the  Holy  Office ;  and  the  same  was  notified  to  both  parties. 
The  Promoter  Fiscal  then  declared  that  he  reproduced 
the  testimony  which  had  been  received  and  registered 
against  the  said  E.  W.  M.  in  this  Holy  Office,  which  testi- 
mony he  desired  might  be  examined  and  ratified  in  form, 
and  also  that  all  other  necessary  investigations  might  be 
made  and  the  testimony  published ;  whereupon  the  audi- 
ence closed,  and  the  prisoner  being  admonished  to  bethink 
himself  well  and  declare  the  truth,  was  remanded  to  prison. 

Mattheo  Maqre, 

Secretary. 
No.  YII. 

AUDIENCE   FOE  THE   PUBLICATION   OF   THE   TESTIMONY. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  at  Seville,  on  the 
loth  day  of  February,  1735.  The  Inquisitor,  Dr.  Domingo 
Abbad  Y  Huerta,  being  at  his  morning  audience,  ordered 
the  above  E.  W.  M.  to  be  brought  from  the  secret  prison, 
which  being  done  and  the  prisoner  present,  he  was 

Questioned.  If  he  remembered  any  thing  which  he  was 
bound  to  declare  according  to  the  oath  he  had  sworn? 

Answered.     That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

The  prisoner  was  then  informed  that  the  Promoter 
Fiscal  of  the  Holy  Office  had  requested  a  publication  of 
the  testimony  against  him,  before  which  it  would  be  well 
for  him  to  declare  the  whole  truth,  as  this  would  cause  him 
to  experience  more  benignity  and  mercy. 

Answered.     That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

Straightway  appeared  the  Promoter  Fiscal,  and  reiiuested 
publication  of  the  testimony  against  the  said  E.  W.  M.  ac- 
cording to  the  style  of  the  Holy  Office.    The  Inquisitor 


488      EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAaU. 

ordered  the  publication  to  be  made,  concealing  the  names 
of  the  witnesses  and  other  circumstances  which  might 
cause  their  persons  to  be  known,  according  to  the  order 
and  style  of  the  Holy  Office,  which  was  done  in  the  manner 
following : 

Publication  of  the  testimony  against  Edward  Wortley 
Montagu^  native  of  London^  England. 

A  certain  witness,  sworn  and  qualified  in  the  proper  time 

and  manner,  in  the  town  of ,  on  a  certain  daj'^  of  the 

month  of  September,  in  the  year  1734,  declares,  &c.  [Here 
follows  the  testimony  of  the  first  witness,  before  given.] 

Another  witness  sworn  and  qualified  in  the  proper  time 
and  manner  declares,  &c.  [Here  follows  the  testimony  of 
the  second  witness.] 

Another  witness,  &c.    [All  the  other  testimony  repeated.] 

The  Inquisitor  then  ordered  the  prisoner  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  his  defence ;  and  admonished  him  and  remanded 
him  to  prison. 

No.  VIII. 

AUDIENCE   TO   COMMUNICATE   THE   PUBLICATION. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  the 
10th  day  of  March,  1735,  the  Inquisitor,  Dr.  Domingo 
Abbad  Y  Huerta,  being  at  his  morning  audience,  ordered 
the  above  E.  W.  M.  to  be  brought  from  prison,  which  being 
done,  and  the  prisoner  present,  he  was — 

Questioned.  If  he  remembered  any  thing  which  he  was 
bound  to  declare  in  discharge  of  his  conscience,  according 
to  the  oath  he  had  sworn  ? 

Answered.    That  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

The  prisoner  was  then  informed  that  Dr.  Francisco 
Magrina,  his  counsel,  was  present,  with  whom  he  might 
communicate,  and  take  measures  for  his  defence.  The 
publication  of  the  testimony  against  the  prisoner  was  then 
read  to  the  said  Dr.  Francisco  Magrina,  who  proceeded  to 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     489 

confer  with  the  prisoner  about  his  defence.  Having  done 
this,  he  received  from  the  liands  of  the  prisoner  a  sheet  of 
paper,  upon  which  he  drew  up  articles  of  defence,  which 
were  then  read  to  the  prisoner,  and  he  declared  that  he 
made  a  formal  presentation  of  the  same.  Here  follows 
the  defence. 

Defence. 

Although  Edward  Wortley  Montagu  has  no  necessity 
for  any  defence  against  the  charges  brought  against  him 
by  the  Promoter  Fiscal  of  this  Holy  Office,  nevertheless 
for  greater  security,  and  with  an  express  declaration  that 
his  impeachment  of  the  testimony  of  the  witnesses  against 
him  is  not  occasioned  by  a  desire  to  injure  them,  but  solely 
to  defend  himself,  he  states  the  following : 

Ist.  He  confesses  that  he  has  committed  an  offence 
against  the  rules  of  the  Church,  but  denies  that  he  ought 
to  receive  any  punishment  for  the  same;  which  is  the 
truth,  because 

2d.  Although  it  be  the  fact  that  he  ate  the  meat  on  the 
feast  in  question,  yet  it  is  not  the  fact  that  he  did  it 
through  malice  or  with  any  desire  to  transgress  the  ordi- 
nances of  the  Church,  but  he  supposed  that  he  lawfully 
might  do  so,  having  a  license  from  the  Abbot ;  which  dec- 
laration is  the  truth. 

3d.  It  is  not  true  that  he  was  informed  that  he  ought 
not  to  eat  the  meat,  yet  he  who  says  he  so  informed  him, 
suffered  him  to  eat  it  notwithstanding ;  which  is  the  truth. 

4th.  The  third  and  fourth  accusations  are  not  corrobo- 
rated by  any  witness,  and  are  utterly  false ;  which  declara- 
tion is  the  truth. 

5th.  The  sixth,  seventh,  eighth,  and  part  of  the  ninth 
accusation  are  not  corroborated  by  any  witness,  and  are 
wholly  false  ;  which  declaration  is  the  truth. 

6th.  The  eleventh  and  twelfth  accusations  are  also  false  in 
toto,  and  are  not  corroborated;  which  declaration  is  the  truth. 


490     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Tth.  These  things  that  he  has  confessed  to  are  harmless; 
■which  is  the  truth. 

8th.  Single  witnesses  to  such  grave  accusations  are  not 
deserving  of  credit,  insomuch  as  non  det  fides  testibus  singu- 
laribus;  which  is  the  truth. 

9th.  The  prisoner  suspects  that  the  witnesses  against 
him  are  acting  maliciously,  and  under  the  command  of 
their  superior ;  which  is  the  truth. 

10.  On  the  above  accounts  the  said  E.  W.  M.  ought  to 
be  acquitted  by  your  Excellency,  and  released  from  prison, 
experiencing  justice  at  your  hands ;  vel  alias  omni  meliori 
modo  quod  de  jure  sibi  adaptari  valeat ;  et  verum. 

11th.  Ponit  quod,  omnia  el  singula,  sunt  vera;  super 
quibus  jus  diei  et  justitiam  vfiinistrari  pustulat ;  et  verum. 

F.  Magrina. 

This  being  presented  to  the  Inquisitor,  was  by  him 
ordered  to  be  put  on  file.  Whereupon  the  prisoner,  being 
admonished,  was  remanded  to  prison. 

Before  me, 

Mattheo  Maqre, 

Secretary. 
Ko.  IX. 
Sentence. 
In  the  Koyal  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  of  Seville,  on  the 
12th  day  of  March,  1135,  at  the  afternoon  audience  for  the 
determination  of  causes :  present  the  Inquisitors  Dr.  Do- 
mingo Abbad  Y  Huerta,  Dr.  Bernardo  Luis  Cotouer,  Dr. 
Joseph  de  Otero  Y  Cossio.     Having  examined  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  cause  against  Edward  Wortley  Montagu, 
now  in  the  secret  prison  of  this  Holy  Office,  ordered  unani- 
mously, that  he  is  to  be  confined  for  life  in  the  said  prison. 

Before  me, 

Mattheo  Magre, 

Secretary. 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     491 


CHAPTER     XXXV. 

I  HAVE  plunged  the  reader  so  abruptly  into  the  heart  of 
the  Inquisition  that  I  suppose  he  will  scarcely  be  prepared 
for  it,  nor  would  he  be  less  surprised  by  the  pile  of  legal 
documents — not  the  least  value  of  which  is  that  they  are 
perfectly  genuine — with  which  I  suddenly  surrounded  him, 
and  left  him  puzzled  doubtless  not  a  little  at  their  profes- 
sional jargon  and  pedantic  forms.  I  will  now  endeavor  to 
help  him  out  of  the  maze  into  which  I  so  unceremoniously 
thrust  him,  and  when  he  reads  or  re-reads  the  preceding 
chapter,  by  the  light  of  this,  I  have  no  fear  but  that  be 
will  more  thoroughly  understand  the  nature  of  the  myste- 
rious tribunal  of  which  I  was  now  the  victim,  than  ever 
has  been  understood  by  Englishmen,  or  even  foreigners, 
before.  For  in  no  work  that  I  know  of  is  there  so  com- 
plete, so  circumstantial,  and  so  accurate  a  narrative  of  the 
legal  process  of  this  ecclesiastical  star  chamber  as  in  the 
present;  and  as  every  step  in  the  proceedings  is  here  mi- 
nutely traced,  the  world  can  judge  of  that  institution  on 
grounds  more  authentic  and  distinct  than  have  ever  before 
been  presented  to  its  eye.  Circumstances,  which  I  shall 
probably  at  a  future  time  disclose,  put  me  in  possession 
of  these  documents,  and  I  have  no  scruple  in  making  them 
public — not  out  of  any  hatred  to  the  Church  of  Kome  or 
its  establishments,  but  simply  as  historical  memoranda, 
well  worthy  the  attention  of  the  philosopher  of  every  creed 
and  kingdom,  and  valuable  to  all  who  make  religious  sys- 
tems the  subject  of  speculation  or  inquiry. 

The  reader  already  knows  how  suddenly  I  was  snatched 
away  from  the  dreamy  vagabond  sort  of  state  in  which  I 
found  myself  at  Granada.  Though  I  am  not  usually  cold- 
blooded, or  quaker-liko  when  wrongs  are  offered  to  me,  I 
knew  at  once  that  resistance  was  hopeless;  and  I  trusted 


492     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

rather  to  the  goodness  of  my  caiise  than  the  vigor  of  my 
muscles.  For  I  had  no  terror  of  any  dangerous  result. 
The  charge  was  heresy — ^this  the  semblance  of  my  captors 
at  once  signified — a  charge  which  I  dismissed  with  scorn, 
and  which- 1  had  no  doubt  I  could  easily  repel.  Had  they 
been  alguazils,  and  had  I  been  apprehended  for  murder,  or 
some  other  offence  against  the  criminal  laws,  such  as  my 
monks  might  easily  have  invented,  I  should  probably  have 
been  not  a  little  nervous;  but  to  an  accusation  of  heretical 
opinion,  I  was  conscious  that  I  was  in  no  way  liable;  and 
therefore  I  bore  my  fetters  without  complaint.  Strange 
and  absurd  it  will  appear  that  I  reasoned  so.  I  ought  to 
have  known  that  if  they  were  capable  of  inventing  a  crimi- 
nal charge  against  me,  they  were  equally  capable  of  sus- 
taining one  whose  basis  should  be  heresy — but  in  the  con- 
fusion of  the  moment,  I  did  not  reason  so,  but  in  the  other 
and  foolish  manner  that  I  have  mentioned ;  and  I  went  my 
way  with  a  cheerfulness  of  demeanor  which  seemed  to  sur- 
prise the  grave  and  black-robed  lictors  of  the  church. 

I  was  carried  into  a  gloomy  building  as  large  as  a  bar- 
rack, with  vast  silent  courtyards,  dark  porticos,  and  frown- 
ing arches;  and  through  stone  corridors,  along  which  our 
steps  were  painfully  and  sadly  echoed.  On  each  side  I 
saw  small  and  iron-studded  doors,  leading  to  cells  innu- 
merable; but  every  door  was  firmly  chained  and  locked, 
and  double  barred  with  massive  bars.  I  was  then  led  into 
a  sort  of  dungeon,  and  having  been  stripped,  I  was  clothed 
in  a  long,  sad-colored  doublet,  and  a  man,  who  seemed  a 
clerk,  entered  in  a  book  an  inventory  of  my  clothes,  telling 
me,  at  the  same  time,  that  I  was  now  in  the  Holy  Inquisi- 
tion, and  that  there  was  nothing  lost  there,  but  that  every 
thing  should  be  restored  to  me  when  I  went  out,  were  it 
even  of  the  value  of  the  hundredth  part  of  a  farthing.  I 
asked  him  why  I  was  brought  here,  and  demanded  the 
name  of  my  accuser ;  but  he  answered : 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.     493 

"  Sir,  you  must  observe  a  strict  silence  here,  and  ask  no 
questions  whatever.  You  must  be  as  still  as  if  you  were 
dead;  and  indeed,  while  you  remain  within  these  walls, 
you  are  truly  dead  to  all  corporeal  things.  You  must  not 
speak,  nor  whistle,  nor  make  the  least  noise  that  can  be 
heard  by  any;  and,  if  you  hear  anybody  cry  or  make  a 
noise,  3'ou  must  still  be  silent,  upon  pain  of  two  hundred 
lashes.  Your  properest  course  will  be  to  recline  upon  this 
mattress  all  the  day  until  you  are  released,  and  thus  you 
will  escape  all  censure."  I  told  him  I  could  not  always 
recline  there,  whereupon  he  added :  "  Well,  you  may 
indeed  walk,  but  it  must  be  softly,  so  that  no  one  sliall  be 
disturbed  in  the  least.  This  place  is  the  Place  of  Silence." 
He  then  departed  with  the  apparitors,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

This  was  a  new  scene  in  my  eventful  drama,  which  I  now 
began  to  contemplate  with  feelings  any  thing  but  satisfac- 
tory. So  long  as  I  was  in  the  open  air,  cheered  by  the 
sun,  and  breathed  upon  by  the  free  wind,  I  could  look  for- 
ward without  dismay  to  the  prison  which  I  approached ; 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that,  after  all,  it  would  be  but  a  tempo- 
rary residence ;  but  the  scene  had  now  become  changed, 
and  the  prospect  was  any  thing  but  agreeable.  I  had  so 
long  been  a  happy  denizen  of  nature,  and  had  been  so  used 
to  trip  over  her  hills  and  dales  like  some  wild,  free  creature 
of  tlie  forest,  that  I  cared  but  little  for  what  ordinary  men 
consider  the  worst  privations.  My  clothes,  my  lodgings,  or 
my  food,  were  the  least  of  all  things  in  my  thought ;  but 
liberty  was  a  priceless  gem,  to  which  nothing  else  could  be 
compared,  and  of  this  it  now  seemed  that  I  was  likely  to  be 
deprived  for  some  unknown  period,  and  for  some  unknown 
offence.  In  place  of  the  glorious  forest,  or  the  sublime 
lonely  mountain,  I  was  in  a  little  cell  of  ten  or  twelve  feet 
in  extent  and  so  dimly  lighted  by  one  small  grated  window 
that,  if  you  had  a  book,  you  could  with  difficulty  read  its 
pages.    I  was  surrounded  by  a  horrible  silenoe,  which  ate 


494     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

into  the  very  essence  of  life  and  made  me  most  intensely 
sad.  I  missed  the  rustle  of  the  trees  and  the  song  of  birds, 
the  merry  music  of  the  rivulet  and  the  sense  of  heavenly 
freedom,  which,  above  all  other  sensations,  is  perhaps  the 
most  rapturous  to  the  soul  and  heart  of  man. 

The  food  with  which  they  supplied  me  was  frugal  and 
monastic,  or  rather  anti-monastic — for,  in  our  convent,  we 
fed  luxuriously  on  all  the  dainties  that  can  gratify  hunger 
and  thirst.  A  little  wine  and  bread  and  half-a-dozen  wal- 
nuts was  all  that  the  H0I3'  Office  supplied  dail}-  to  its  pris- 
oners ;  but,  as  we  had  no  exercise,  our  appetites  were  not 
great,  and  we  remained  in  health  on  this  slight  refection. 
A  week  passed  in  solitude,  during  which  I  saw  no  one  but 
my  keeper.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  hurried  one  morn- 
ing rapidly  into  my  cell,  and  told  me  to  make  ready  to  go 
out.  I  liailed  this  as  a  sign  of  freedom,  and,  with  boyish 
gladness,  asked  him.  Whither  ?  He  answered :  "  You  must 
go  to  audience."  "  What !"  I  asked,  "  to  the  king  ?"  "  No," 
said  he,  "but  to  my  lords  of  the  Holy  Office,"  This  reply 
damped  all  mj^  courage.  However,  I  prepared  myself,  and 
was  conducted  to  the  place. 

It  was  a  large,  oblong  chamber,  not  very  well  lighted. 
On  the  wall,  at  the  extreme  end,  were :  on  the  right,  the 
Papal  arms — the  mitre  and  cross  keys — finely  carved  and 
gilt;  and,  on  the  left,  the  royal  arms  of  Spain  under  a 
naked  sword.  In  the  centre  was  a  colossal  carving,  repre- 
senting the  crucifixion ;  and  as  it  was  finely  painted,  and 
all  the  deathliness  and  horror  of  the  event  were  plainly 
represented,  it  struck  the  eye  with  a  vividness  that  is  but 
seldom  felt  at  mere  pictorial  images.  In  front  of  this,  be- 
fore a  long  table,  was  a  chair,  in  which  sat  an  Inquisitor, 
and  near  him  was  a  small  crucifixion,  placed  upright,  so  as 
to  be  ever  in  his  e3'e,  doubtless  that  he  might  be  filled  only 
with  the  most  holy  thoughts.  At  the  end  of  this  table  was 
a  little  bench,  at  which  I  sat,  and  near,  at  a  small  table  at 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      495 

my  right,  was  a  Secretary,  who  made  minutes  of  all  that 
took  place. 

The  Inquisitor  himself,  whose  name  I  afterwards  learned 
was  Dr.  Domingo  Abbad  Y  Huerta,  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  of  a  saturnine  expression,  a  large  and  somewhat 
coarse  mouth,  a  broad  forehead,  well  developed,  and  a 
piercing  gaze  in  his  eyes,  which  had,  at  times,  something 
sinister,  and  which  seemed  to  search  you  through  and 
through,  though  he  never  looked  me  once  fully  in  the  face 
during  the  whole  investigation.  There  was  an  air  of  com- 
mand in  his  features,  habitual  to  one  who  had  long  exer- 
cised power  of  life  and  death,  and  his  voice  was  clear, 
cold,  harsh,  and  imperious.  I  was  informed  ])y  the  appari- 
tor, that  I  was  now  having  my  first  audience,  and  I  was 
accordingly  questioned  in  the  manner  set  out  in  the  legal 
document  which  is  so  headed.  I  observed  that,  however 
carefully  the  Secretary  wrote  down  all  my  answers,  thero 
was  an  air  of  incredulity  about  both  himself  and  the  In- 
quisitor, as  if  they  noted  what  they  heard  as  a  matter  of 
course,  without  according  the  slightest  particle  of  faith  in 
its  truth,  or  being  in  any  way  aflected  whether  it  made  for 
or  against  me.  Uowever,  I  answered  frankly  and  sincerely, 
for  I  was  in  no  fear  at  all ;  and  though  I  had  seen  some- 
thing of  the  interior  of  religious  life,  the  parting  benedic- 
tion or  advice  with  which  the  Inquisitor  dismissed  me, 
seemed  so  sincere  and  well  intended  that,  had  I  really  any 
thing  to  confess  against  myself,  I  should  have  been  tempted 
to  do  so.  But  I  had  nothing  to  charge  myself  with,  and 
therefore  I  was  obliged  to  appear  contumacious  to  my 
judges — if,  indeed,  the  Inquisitor  ever  condescended  to 
think  at  all  about  me. 

The  next  day  I  asked  my  keeper  how  long  I  should  be 
kept  in  prison  ?  I  told  him  that  I  was  wholly  ignorant 
what  charge  of  heresy  or  disbelief  could  be  brought  against 
me,  and  that  it  was  useless  for  the  Inquisitor  to  endeavor 


496     EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU. 

to  extort  a  confession  of  that  of  which  I  was  wholly  inno- 
cent. He  told  me  not  to  be  afraid ;  that  the  Inquisitor  was 
a  most  holy  and  just  man,  and  that  all  he  did  was  intended 
for  my  benefit,  spiritual  and  earthly ;  that  if  I  answered 
freely  to  the  questions  put,  I  should  receive  the  highest 
marks  of  favor  and  respect — the  Inquisition  never  exercis- 
ing its  sovereign  powers,  except  over  those  who  were  so 
obstinately  wicked  that  they  were  insensible  either  to 
prayers  or  commands.  He  told  me  he  had  known  persons 
to  be  confined  there  ten,  twenty,  and  even  thirty  years,  for 
refusing  to  make  that  full  and  open  confession  which  the 
Church  sought  simpl}-  for  their  own  benefit,  but  that  noth- 
ing could  be  more  honorable  or  expeditious  than  their 
mode  of  administering  justice,  when  the  accused  dealt 
fairly  with  them. 

A  day  or  two  after  this  I  received  a  visit  from  one  of  the 
reverend  Doctors  of  the  place,  accompanied  by  his  Secre- 
tary, who,  with  an  air  of  intense  kindness,  asked  me 
whether  I  was  well  ?  whether  my  keeper  was  kind  to  me  ? 
whether  my  food,  my  bed,  and  lodging  were  pleasant  and 
agreeable  ?  whether  I  had  anj'  complaint  to  make  ?  for  if 
I  had  it  should  be  speedily  inquired  into  and  redressed — 
and,  finally,  if  there  was  any  tiling  appertaining  to  my 
spiritual  welfare  to  wh%:;h  the  Holy  OflSce  could  in  the  least 
contribute, — I  had  but  to  name  it,  and  it  should  be  at  once 
looked  to ;  for  the  Church  regarded  with  maternal  love  all 
its  children,  however  erring,  and  never  was  filled  with  more 
heavenly  joy  than  when  she  could  see  them  repent  and  live. 

To  all  these  fine  speeches  I  simply  ansAvered  that  I  had 
committed  no  offence  deserving  spiritual  chastisement; 
and  that  further,  the  loss  of  my  liberty  was  the  greatest 
punishment  which  could  be  imposed  upon  me.  Wherefore 
I  besought  him  that  I  might  have  a  speedy  trial,  for  I  had 
no  doubt  1  could  make  manifest  my  innocence  the  moment 
I  saw  my  accuser.    The  reverend  doctor  parted  from  me 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     497 

with  a  "  God  bless  you,  my  son,"  which  might  have  melted 
the  heart  of  a  stone,  and  in  sooth  I  suppose  it  would  have 
melted  mine  into  water,  had  I  not  been  thoroughly  on  my 
guard.  Despite  the  vigilance  of  my  jailor,  I  noted  a  hun- 
dred symptoms  that  I  was  in  a  place  of  torture.  I  could 
hear  at  midnight  long  and  dismal  groans,  whose  dying 
echoes  were  dreadful  to  the  ear ;  in  the  day,  when  I  was 
meditating,  a  shrill  scream  as  if  produced  by  a  paroxysm 
of  the  direst  anguish  seemed  to  echo  through  my  cell,  as  if 
conveyed  by  some  strange  passage  with  which  the  dungeon 
of  the  sufferer  communicated  with  mine.  The  keeper  stole 
often  outside  my  door  to  see  whether  he  could  hear  me  say 
any  thing,  and  to  discover  no  doubt  also  whether  I  was 
communicating  with  the  tenants  of  the  next  cells,  or  plot- 
ting against  the  ordinances  of  the  place.  Once  when  I 
asked  him  about  Captain  Bermudez,  he  smiled  significantly, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  signified  that  I  was  doing  my- 
self no  good  by  inquiring  after  such  a  reprobate.  To  my 
inquiry  as  to  what  had  become  of  the  children  of  the  Gita- 
nos,  he  flew  into  a  passion,  and  ordered  me  to  mind  my 
own  business,  or  he  would  report  me  to  his  superiors. 

In  another  month  I  was  again  summoned  by  an  appari- 
tor to  the  Second  Audience,  when  another  holy  Doctor 
appeared  on  the  tribunal.  This  audience  ended  as  unsat- 
isfactorily as  the  first,  and  I  was  sternly  remanded  to  my 
cell. 

The  Third  Audience  was  on  the  following  month,  and 
on  this  occasion  there  were  three  Inquisitors ;  the  particu- 
lars of  it  are  set  forth  in  the  legal  instrument,  and  it  cer- 
tainly tried  my  patience  to  the  utmost  to  hear  such  false 
charges.  On  this  occasion  I  was  furnished  with  the  depo- 
sitions, and  the  accusation  against  me;  but  the  names 
were  carefully  suppressed.  I  became  possessed  of  the 
authentic  documents  afterwards  in  a  manner  that  will  be 
explained.     The  countenances  of  the  Inquisitors  had  now 


BDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

grown  dark  and  angiy;  and  that  accent  of  benevolence 
which  on  their  first  or  second  appearance  they  had  used, 
was  now  changed  into  one  of  harsh  and  imperious  terror, 
in  which  was  developed  the  true  nature  of  the  men ;  hard, 
cold,  cruel  as  steel.  However,  I  did  not  heed  them  much, 
being  convinced  in  my  own  mind  (against  all  reason  and 
experience  as  I  now  know)  that  nothing  really  could  be 
done  to  me,  as  I  was  innocent.  Some  other  formal  audi- 
ences being  had,  which  are  mentioned  in  the  document,  I 
was  visited  by  my  counsel.  Dr.  Magrina,  who  told  me  that 
God  was  the  first  Inquisitor,  for  he  had  questioned  Adam 
and  Eve  in  the  garden,  &c.,  which  precedent  clearly  proved 
the  heavenly  origin  of  the  Holy  Office,  and  the  sublime 
nature  of  the  duties  imposed  on  its  ministers.  He  used  a 
great  many  sophistical  arguments  to  induce  me  to  make 
full  confession,  and  appeared  wholly  to  mock  my  protesta- 
tions of  innocence.  However,  he  maintained  appearances 
as  well  as  he  could,  and  he  often  spoke  to  me  on  other 
matters,  on  which  we  could  converse  freely  without  sus- 
picion. He  was  pleased  to  say  he  felt  the  deepest  interest 
in  my  welfare,  and  that  if  I  would  but  embrace  the  pure 
and  holy  faith  of  the  Catholic  Church,  I  might  be  immedi- 
ately appointed  to  a  most  honorable  and  confidential  office 
in  England  on  behalf  of  the  rightful  heir  to  the  Throne. 
My  connections  and  opportunities  were  hinted  at,  my  sup- 
posed knowledge  of  the  Court  and  Court  intrigues  would 
be  beneficial  to  the  illustrious  family  most  deeply  inter- 
ested, and  I  might  be  dismissed  at  once  with  every  token 
of  dignity,  if  I  did  but  prove  the  sincerity  of  my  heart,  and 
the  falseness  of  the  accusation,  by  consenting  to  be  bap- 
tised in  tlie  Holy  Catholic  Faith.  My  answer  to  this  imper- 
tinence may  be  surmised.  I  had  not  abjured  slavery  to  a 
parent  in  order  to  assume  it  under  a  priest. 

At  last  the  final  hearing  came  on.     The  defence  of  Dr. 
Magrina,  I  suppose,  was  in  the  usual  style  of  these  proceed- 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     499 

ings.  The  result  the  reader  knows.  To  me  the  sentence 
came  like  a  sentence  of  death,  and  I  was  filled  with  horror. 
I  am  certain  I  should  have  infinitelj'  preferred  the  stake 
itself,  to  perpetual  imprisonment  in  this  odious  place. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

A  POWER  was  working  outside  the  walls  of  this  Royal 
Palace  of  the  Inquisition,  on  which  its  sacred  governors 
never  calculated.  The  recent  foray  on  the  Gitanos,  and 
the  abduction  of  upwards  of  two  hundred  of  their  youno- 
ones,  had  driven  this  people  into  frenzy,  which  would  have 
evaporated  in  mere  talk  (for  the  Gitano  race  are  the  most 
timid  of  all  the  people  under  the  sun)  had  not  the  acci- 
dental arrest  of  Captain  Bermudez  supplied  flame  to  what 
was  already  full  ready  to  blaze  forth.  The  gallant  Captain 
had  ostensibly  done  nothing  to  subject  himself  to  the 
spiritual  interference  of  the  Holy  Office.  His  crimes  were, 
it  was  thought,  altogether  of  a  secular  nature ;  and  it  was 
always  the  spirit  of  the  Inquisition  to  meddle  with  nothing 
but  their  own  affairs,  and  to  let  the  municipal  power  exer- 
cise the  laws  upon  those  delinquents  who  had  transgressed 
in  worldly  matters;  reserving  to  themselves  the  whole 
jurisdiction  over  those  who  had  violated  conscience  by 
some  speech,  or  thought,  or  act,  which  was  not  directly 
cognizable  by  the  civil  courts.  It  would  seem  that  this 
was  not  so ;  and  that  the  Holy  Office  had  received  an  ac- 
cusation against  the  Captain  of  some  spiritual  transgres- 
sion. I  believe  it  was  the  abduction  in  early  life  of  a 
novice,  or  a  nun — for  which  they  were  now  resolved  to 
wreak  full  satisfaction  on  his  head.  Accordingly,  although 
a  band  of  soldiers  had  been  despatched  from  Madrid  for 


500  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

the  sole  purpose  of  securing  him  and  destro^-ing  his  com- 
panions, the  Holy  Office  with  that  air  of  superiority  over 
the  civil  tribunals  wliich  they  always  exhibited,  and  never 
failed  to  carry  into  practice  where  thej'  could,  claimed  full 
power  over  Captain  Bermudez ;  and  the  soldiers  of  the 
king,  after  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  get  into  the 
stronghold  of  the  bandits,  were  obliged  to  return  the  way 
the}'  came — the  gypsj'  Duke  hinting  pretty  freely  that  their 
commandant  had  received  a  large  sum  of  money  as  a  peace- 
offering — the  vulgar  would  call  it  a  bribe — from  Julian 
Romea,  who  acted  as  a  kind  of  confidential  clerk  to  Cap- 
tain Bermudez.  The  bandits,  therefore,  being  wholly  un- 
molested, soon  concocted  measures  with  the  Gitauos  for  a 
general  attack  on  the  Royal  Palace.  They  waited  for  fully 
seven  months,  until  all  measures  of  precaution  had  been  laid 
aside  and  the  soldiers  were  safely  barracked  in  the  capital. 
Numerous  meetings  took  place,  and  the  Gitanos  were 
rapidlj'  instructed  in  the  use  of  the  trabucho  and  the  pistol, 
tliough  I  believe  nothing  short  of  the  terrible  outrage  per- 
petrated on  them  could  have  induced  those  people  to  lay 
aside  their  peaceful,  timid  habits,  and  enter  on  a  course 
wliich  must,  necessarily,  terminate  in  carnage.  During 
these  proceedings  Dom  Balthazar  arrived  from  a  distant 
quarter,  no  one  knew  where,  but  every  one  recognized  his 
right  to  command.  Balthazar,  as  we  have  seen,  was  no 
craven.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  man  fully  equal  to  any 
emergency  of  this  nature.  His  recognized  position  among 
the  Gitanos  entitled  him  to  counsel,  and  even  to  command; 
and  the  gyps}'  Duke  willingly  surrendered  up  to  another 
the  leadership  of  an  enterprise  which  was  wholly  repug- 
nant to  all  his  former  instincts  and  habits. 

Of  the  bandits,  the  one  selected  to  fill  the  Captain's  place 
was  an  arch  but  bold  wag,  who  rejoiced  in  the  nickname 
of  St.  Joseph.  He  had  been  a  student  for  the  priesthood, 
but  having  got  a  young  Jewess  in  the  family-way,  he  fled 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAQU.      601 

into  the  mountains,  and  joined  himself  to  some  noble  spirits, 
who  with  true  cosmopolitan  pliilosophy  waged  war  alike 
upon  Christian  and  Hebrew.  The  incidents  in  which  he 
had  been  engaged,  and  his  own  profane  comparisons  of 
himself  to  the  venerable  sage,  had  got  him  tlie  name  in 
which  he  now  rejoiced ;  and  he  was  well  and  widely  known 
for  his  unrelenting  pillage  of  all  holy  ministers  of  religion, 
whom  he  usually  shaved,  or  exj^xirimented  upon  in  a  man- 
ner absurdly  ludicrous  to  all  who  could  dissociate  religious 
duties  from  the  order  of  the  priesthood,  and  who  did  not 
quite  hold  that  every  monk  was  a  deity  or  an  archangel. 
Priests  and  Jews  were  the  chief  game  he  hunted ;  and  as 
luck  would  have  it,  he  had  had  remarkable  success  in  the 
chase.  His  bags  were  full  of  reliques,  scapularies,  holy 
beads,  cassocks  and  other  paraphernalia  of  priests;  and 
though  he  had  a  large  collection  of  breviaries,  the  only  por- 
tion of  them  which  he  ever  read  were  the  legends  of  th« 
saints,  on  which  he  bestowed  unlimited  jokes,  and  which 
he  said  were  far  pleasanter  than  the  miracles  of  Ovid.  The 
other  consecrated  trappings  were  subjected  to  unmerciful 
profanation.  He  would  dress  himself  as  a  priest,  and, 
entering  a  village,  confess  all  the  young  women  of  the 
place,  and  return  to  his  companions  primed  and  loaded 
with  extraordinary  anecdotes,  which  he  recited  with  an  air 
so  comical  and  waggish,  that  none  could  abstain  from 
laughter.  But  with  all  this,  the  fellow,  like  Mercutio,  was 
as  brave  as  a  lion. 

Seven  months  passed,  as  I  have  said,  before  the  banditti 
or  the  Gitanos  took  any  steps  in  their  meditated  siege. 
They  now  put  themselves  under  the  leadership  of  Balthazar 
and  St.  Joseph,  and  the  event  was  fixed  for  the  first  dark 
night.  They  had  an  emissary  within  the  Palace,  in  the 
shape  of  a  turnkey,  who  was  a  Gitano  by  blood,  and  whoso 
fidelity  the  robbers  insured  by  the  promise  of  a  purse  of 
gold  if  he  would  open  the  gates  and  admit  them.  This 
32 


502  ■    EDWAKD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

fellow  was  soon  persuaded.  He  had  originally  been  a 
robber  himself,  but  a  priest  whom  he  had  eased  of  some 
doubloons  wrought  a  miraculous  conversion  in  him,  and 
after  a  probation  of  piety  and  religious  exercises  be  was 
made  an  officer  of  the  Inquisition,  where  he  had,  up  to  the 
present  period,  performed  his  duties  with  fidelity  enough. 
But  the  fame  of  Captain  Bermudez  was  so  widely  spread 
through  the  provinces  that  our  new  convert  felt  not  a  little 
inclined  to  seek  adventures  with  him,  and  the  old  vagrant 
humor  breaking  forth,  when  the  Captain  himself  was  in- 
carcerated, he  determined  to  confer  on  him  such  a  service  as 
would  insure  enrolment  in  his  band,  and  thorough  reliance 
on  his  future  trustworthiness.  He  got  into  communication 
therefore  with  the  Captain,  and  an  amicable  negotiation 
was  entered  into  between  Bermudez,  Balthazar,  St.  Joseph 
and  Sylvetti,  (so  was  the  officer  called,)  which  was  satisfac- 
tory to  all  parties,  and  resulted  in  the  arrangement  which 
I  have  mentioned.  Tlie  guard  over  Captain  Bermudez 
was  to  be  knocked  on  the  head,  the  Captain  himself  was  to 
be  let  loose,  and  taken  into  the  quarters  were  the  young 
Gitanos  were  huddled  up,  and  where  a  party  of  the  gang 
were  to  meet  him,  and,  furnisliing  the  ui'chins  with  torches 
and  flambeaux,  were  to  fire  the  Palace,  and  in  the  general 
confusion  sack  it  of  all  it  contained,  and  liberate  the  im- 
prisoned heretics,  out  of  whom  they  anticipated  some  fresh 
and  desperate  recruits  to  their  ranks. 

Every  thing  succeeded  miraculously.  A  saint's  night 
was  chosen  for  the  siege,  when  half  the  officers  were  drunk; 
for  though  the  Spaniards  are  a  sober  people,  there  are  cer- 
tain holy  seasons  when  indulgence  is  periaitted ;  and  the 
festival  of  a  Saint  is  one  of  these.  Sylvetti  maufully  car- 
ried out  his  project ;  and  Captain  Bermudez,  to  his  unmiti- 
gated delight,  found  himself  a  free  man — as  free  at  least  as 
he  could  be  within  the  walls  of  a  prison,  though  unconfined 
within  any  cell.    He  proceeded  at  once  to  the  quarter  indi- 


BDWARD    WORTLEY     MONTAOTT.  503 

cated.  Sylvetti  opened  the  door,  and  let  in  the  rabble ; 
tliey  entered  silently,  and  then  barred  the  huge  doors. 
Now  a  terrible  struggle  arose.  There  were  at  least  a  hun- 
dred officers  and  warders  within  this  vast  place,  and  they 
were  all  well  armed.  The  encounter  was  terrible,  but  num- 
bers prevailed ;  and  the  Gitanos  once  heated  by  the  sight 
of  blood,  and  the  certainty  of  conquest,  grew  perfectly  wild 
and  furious.  Fire  was  applied  in  a  hundred  places  at  the 
same  instant  to  the  Palace ;  the  most  fearful  hand-to-hand 
encountei's  took  place;  the  work  of  pillage  commenced; 
and  though  there  was  not  much  to  seize,  still  to  the  Gita- 
nos almost  every  thing  was  valuable,  though  the  gentlemen 
of  Captain  Bermudez  cared  only  for  gold  cups,  or  silver 
crucifixes.  They  got  a  few  of  these  in  the  great  chapel, 
and  managed  to  sack  some  rich  vestments,  one  of  which 
gorgeously  worked  in  gold  St.  Joseph  wisely  secured  for 
himself;  and  having  carefully'  packed  up  all  that  they  in- 
tended to  take  awaj^,  they  were  preparing  for  their  depar- 
ture like  men  entirely  satisfied  with  their  night's  work. 
But  Captain  Bermudez  had  not  forgotten  what  he  owed  to 
me.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  I  also  was  in  the 
Inquisition,  and  as  he  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to  find 
me,  he  proposed  a  general  and  instant  liberation  of  all  the 
prisoners — a  part  of  the  original  plan  which  in  the  hurry 
and  confusion  had  been  well  nigh  forgotten. 

It  so  happened  that  I  was  among  the  very  first  on  whom 
the  Captain  himself  accidentally  dropped.  I  had  heard 
the  horrible  uproar,  but  could  form  no  conception  as  to  its 
cause ;  but  when  the  place  began  to  fill  with  smoke,  and 
the  groans  of  the  dying  and  wounded,  mingled  with  the 
shouts,  the  blasphe-nies,  and  the  execrations  of  the  exult- 
ant victors  began  to  swell  into  a  tempest,  coupled  with  the 
shrill  screams  of  the  children,  who  scarcely  knew  whether 
they  were  in  the  hands  of  friends  or  foes,  I  began  to  get 
alarmed  for  my  own  safety,  and  to  regard  the  chances  of 


504     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

being  roasted  alive  as  not  the  least  remote  from  possibility. 
I  kicked  against  my  prison  door,  and  did  all  I  could  to 
make  myself  heard — but  I  did  not  know  that  my  worthy 
keeper  was  then  lying  within  a  few  yards  of  me  with  his 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  and  his  pockets  rifled  of  the 
few  silver  coins  which  they  contained.  And  now  on  all 
sides  arose  a  terrible  chorus  of  cries ;  the  shriek  of  despair, 
the  shout  of  vengeance,  the  accent  of  supplication,  the  howl 
of  frenzy — ^for  there  were  several  in  this  odious  place  whom 
their  wrongs  had  driven  into  madness.  Hastily,  at  the 
head  of  a  few  chosen  men,  all  of  whom  had  keys,  came 
Captain  Bermudez  along  the  arcades.  I  could  hear  each 
cell  unlocked,  and  I  was  in  an  agony  of  expectation  until 
my  turn  also  came,  for  I  could  see  a  red  glare  now  imaged 
in  the  sky  which  told  me  that  this  mighty  prison  was  on 
fire.  The  Captain  saw  me,  but  could  scarcely  believe  his 
eyes — so  great  was  the  change  which  a  few  short  months 
had  wrought  in  my  appearance ;  nor  was  it  until  the  torches 
shone  full  over  me,  that  he  was  quite  certain  who  it  was. 
For  my  part  I  did  not  leave  him  long  in  doubt;  for  I 
rushed  upon  him  and  clasped  his  hand  with  thanks  for  my 
deliverance ;  a  greeting  which  the  worthy  Spaniard  received 
with  his  accustomed  gravity. 

"  Come  along,  Senor,"  said  he,  "  and  join  us  in  liberating 
the  rest." 

I  gladly  did  so,  and  we  went  wildly  from  cell  to  cell. 
The  vast  quadrangles  were  now  one  vast  Babel  of  confu- 
sion. In  every  place  were  men  and  women,  dressed  and 
undressed,  who  added  to  the  tumult  by  their  tears,  their 
terrors,  their  amazement,  and  their  joy.  The  subterra- 
nean dungeons  were  every  moment  disgorging  fresh  vic- 
tims. There  was  feeble,  querulous,  weather-beaten  old  age, 
and  youth  in  all  its  brightness,  dimmed  in  the  Very  vigor 
of  its  hopes.  In  one  cell  we  found  a  Jew,  nearly  eighty 
years  of  age,  with  long  gray  neglected  beard  and  haggard 


BDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.     505 

eyes,  who  told  us  he  had  been  taken  away  from  home  and 
wife  and  children  fifty  years  before,  and  locked  up  in  this 
hell  ever  since,  enduring  a  living  death ;  for  he  had  never 
heard  the  least  tidings  of  his  family  from  that  time  to  the 
present.  The  old  man  was  like  a  mummy ;  it  could  be 
just  said  that  he  lived,  but  nothing  more.  He  was  like  a 
toad  disentombed  from  a  hard  rock,  where  he  had  lain 
buried  for  ten  thousand  years ;  the  sight  and  hope  of  free- 
dom was  too  much  for  him.  He  told  his  tale  feebly, 
gasped  for  air  at  the  end  of  it,  and  fell  down,  expiring  in  a 
few  moments.  In  another  place  we  found  a  priest,  who 
had  been  originally  immersed  for  some  slight  ecclesias- 
tical offence ;  but  when  he  was  searched  in  the  prison,  a 
copy  of  Spinosa  was  found  in  his  pocket,  and,  for  this 
frightful  crime,  he  was  sentenced  to  a  dungeon  for  life.  He 
was  a  tall  and  noble-looking  man ;  his  eyes  were  full  of 
philosophic  calm  and  dignity ;  he  seemed  to  treat  all  things 
as  the  result  of  destiny ;  and  when  we  told  him  that  he  was 
free,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  had  been  brought  about, 
he  mildly  reproved  Bermudez  for  so  wicked  a  contrivance 
as  an  attack  on  the  citadel  of  the  Hoi}''  Office,  and  asked 
him  how  he  hoped  to  obtain  the  intercession  of  the  Virgin 
for  his  participation  in  this  blasphemous  outrage  upon  the 
sacred  temple  of  her  best-beloved  ministers  ?  So  great  is 
the  force  of  custom  on  the  mind  that  I  have  no  doubt  this 
man  would  subsequently  surrender,  and  willingly  submit 
himself  to  his  allotted  punishment. 

And  now  a  loud  cry  of  tlie  wildest  exultation  was  heard. 
We  turned  to  the  comer  from  whence  it  came,  and  as  we 
had  nearly  emptied  the  whole  prison  b}*  this,  I  accompa- 
nied Captain  Bermudez  to  the  place  from  whence  the  noise 
proceeded. 

"  It  is  time,"  he  said,  "to  prepare  for  flight.     If  we  re 
main  much  longer  we  may  be  surprised." 

We  found  ourselves  among  the  Gitanos,  who  were  danc- 


606     EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU. 

ing  wildly,  like  so  many  mad  people ;  their  joy  knew  no 
bounds.  They  had  found  an  Englishwoman  who  knew 
their  language,  and  there  were  loud  plaudits.  What  icy 
chill  was  it  that  suddenly  ran  through  my  heart?  I 
rushed  into  the  middle  of  the  crowd.  The  gypsies  made 
way  at  once,  when  they  saw  who  I  was ;  nay,  they  began 
to  congratulate  me  on  the  joy  I  should  feel  at  being  thus  a 
party  in  the  liberation  of  my  counti'ywoman.  She  was 
lying  on  the  ground,  tenderlj'  supported  by  some  of  the 
Gitanos.  Her  hair  was  loose  upon  her  shoulders,  and  her 
appearance  fair,  but  fragile  in  the  extreme.  Her  eyes  were 
closed ;  but,  as  I  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  she  opened 
them,  and  with  a  bound,  a  superhuman  exertion,  she  rose, 
and  flung  herself  in  my  arms. 

"  0,  Wortley !"  she  said,  "  are  you  indeed  come  at  last  ?" 

I  was  overpowered.  Could  this  be  Francesca  ?  Could 
this  be  my  innocent  and  noble  wife?  It  was  so.  The 
sudden  surprise  had  bereft  me,  as  it  were,  of  my  rea- 
son ;  but  I  knew  that  it  was  she,  and  I  folded  her  to  my 
heart. 

"  She  is  my  wife,"  I  said  to  the  people ;  and  many  of 
them  melted  into  tears.  She  meanwhile  lay  upon  my  heart 
bereft  of  sense  and  motion.  Captain  Bermudez  instantly 
ordered  a  mattress  to  be  brought  forth,  and  when  she  was 
laid  on  it,  he  gave  her  over  to  the  charge  of  the  gypsies, 
and  ordered  a  retreat.  I  walked  by  her  side,  holding  her 
hand,  and  wondering  what  new  revelation  was  now  to 
come.  Even  at  the  moment  I  could  not  convince  myself 
but  that  I  was  playing  a  part  only  in  an  incoherent  dream. 

With  some  difficulty  we  made  our  way  from  the  burning 
palace.  The  whole  city  was  now  aroused ;  the  guards  and 
the  authorities  were  there ;  but  seeing  a  determined  force 
of  sixty  men,  armed  with  kniA'cs  and  pistols,  and  upwards 
of  six  hundred  of  the  Gitanos,  bearing  sledge-hammers, 
pikes,  guns,  and  swords,  as  they  guarded  their  liberated 


BDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAaU.      507 

offspring,  who  clung  to  them  with  eager  limbs ;  observing, 
too,  that  we  were  momentarily  reinforced  from  the  Albay- 
cin  by  crowds  of  the  female  gypsies,  who  gathered  around 
us  with  frantic  cries  of  joy,  almost  all  being  armed  with 
daggers,  or  other  implements  of  offence ;  and  that,  among 
those  whom  we  had  liberated,  there  was  a  large  number 
prepared  to  fight  desperately  for  freedom,  should  any 
attempt  be  made  on  the  part  of  the  magistrates  to  detain 
them  by  force,  they  thought  that  moderation  was  the 
safest  course ;  and  indeed  there  were  hundreds  among  the 
assembled  citizens  who  could  not  but  sympathize  with  the 
energetic  means  to  which  the  Gitanos  resorted;  and  few 
saw  with  sorrow  the  downfall  of  so  horrible  an  institution 
as  that  which  was  now  surrounded  by  the  flames.  Any 
notion  of  an  attack  upon  us,  therefore,  if  ever  it  was  enter- 
tained, was  abandoned  when  our  numbers  were  discovered, 
and  our  resolution  to  defend  ourselves  to  the  last  extremity 
could  be  traced  in  our  determined,  silent,  dogged  bearing. 
The  crowd  opened  a  passage  for  us ;  we  passed  in  silence, 
but  with  vigilant  eyes.  I  think  I  saw  a  movement  made 
at  one  place  towards  Captain  Bermudez  by  some  of  the 
magistrates ;  but  that  worthy,  with  a  pair  of  pistols  in  his 
hand,  looked  steadfastly  at  the  approaching  party,  and, 
without  wasting  many  words,  signified  to  them  that  an 
attempt  on  him  must  be  the  prelude  at  all  events  to  their 
own  destruction,  and  to  the  most  deadly  civil  commotion 
that  Spain  had  known  since  the  days  of  the  Moors.  Our 
march  was  rapid  and  terrible ;  the  few  villages  we  passed 
through  were  evidently  cowed  and  overawed  by  the  impos- 
ing fierceness  of  our  appearance  j  miles  seemed  nothing  to 
us  in  our  excited  condition. 


508     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

• 

We  now  mounted  upward  by  the  winding  road  of  the 
Alhambra.  The  moon  was  bright  in  heaven ;  the  snowy 
mountain  peaks  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  were  one  sheet  of 
glittering  crystal.  The  lonely  Tower  of  Comares  rose  be- 
fore us  still  and  stately ;  the  hills  and  vallej's  rich  with  fig 
and  pomegranite  lay  in  deep  repose  and  shadow ;  but  here 
and  there  we  could  see  the  soft  moonlight  imaged  on  many 
a  fairy  stream  that  flowed  in  silver  from  the  emerald  glens 
and  gorges  of  the  Alpuxarras.  I  was  once  again  happy — 
or  at  all  events  indulging  in  a  happy  dream.  Beside  me, 
with  her  hand  clasped  in  mine,  was  my  own  beloved  Fran- 
cesca  beautiful  as  ever,  though  faint  and  thin  ;  while  in  her 
eyes  which  now  beamed  on  me  with  enthusiastic  fondness, 
I  read  a  world  of  love,  as  pure  as  snow;  as  undying  as 
ever  animated  the  heart  of  woman.  We  did  not  speak,  for 
I  could  see  how  feeble  she  was,  and  I  was  satisfied  to  hold 
and  press  her  hand,  knowing  that  in  each  mute  caress  she 
understood  the  whole  of  what  my  spirit  felt.  And  now  we 
had  passed  that  Moorish  palace,  and  were  ascending  the 
higher  eminence  on  which  the  g^^psy  tribe  have  made  their 
dwelling  for  so  many  centuries,  burrowing  in  the  rocks  and 
caves,  and  nestling  amid  fruits  and  fiowers,  with  an  Arab 
independence  of  the  mere  superfluities  of  life,  which  in  my 
judgment  is  the  surest  proof  of  high  organization.  Of 
two  men — one  of  whom  is  content  with  a  handful  of  dates, 
while  the  other  can  do  nothing  without  abeefstake — the 
first  is  certainly  the  greater.  Suddenly  there  was  a  loud 
disturbance  in  our  rear;  and  a  tall  horseman  rode  up, 
mounted  on  a  powerful  mule.  Our  eyes  met.  We  both 
knew  each  other  at  a  glance,  though  we  had  not  met  for 
E(bme  time.  It  was  Dom  Balthazar.  Looking  at  the  litter 
and  at  myself,  he  rudely  demanded — 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAOU.      509 

"What  means  this?  and  what  brings  this  man  here?" 

I  returned  him  a  look  of  hate  and  scorn,  but  I  disdained 
to  answer.  In  a  rough  voice  he  called  out  to  the  bearers 
oT  the  litter  to  halt,  and  they  did  so. 

"  Drag  away  that  man,"  he  said,  pointing  to  me. 

But  now  Captain  Bermudez  came  forward. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  who  you  are,  or 
what  you  want,  but  you  had  better  go  home,  and  become 
sober.     You  have  no  business  with  us." 

"And  who  may  you  be?"  asked  Balthazar,  with  an 
angry  gesture  of  hatred  and  rage. 

"  I  am  called  Bermudez,"  answered  the  other ;  "  who  are 
you  ?" 

"  Whoever  I  am,  it  matters  not  to  you,"  replied  Balthazar. 
"  I  am  in  command  of  my  brethren  here,  and  this  woman 
is  my  wife." 

"  Scoundrel !"  I  said,  darting  towards  him,  "how  darest 
thou  to  say  this  ?     Thou  the  refuse  and  scum  of  mortals !" 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  cold  hate;  and  drawing  his 
dagger,  came  to  meet  me.  Bermudez  flung  himself  between 
us.  • 

"  Senor,"  said  he  to  me,  "  are  you  mad  that  you  mind 
this  varlet?  You  who  have  but  just  recovered  your  wife, 
and  such  a  wife,  ought  not  to  be  moved  by  this  follow." 

"  I  tell  you  she  is  my  wife,"  roared  Balthazar,  and  he 
made  towards  the  litter.  As  he  did  so,  Francesca  rose ; 
she  seemed  imbued  with  new  strength. 

"  Hcgone,"  she  said,  "  torment  me  not.  Are  not  all  my 
woes  and  troubles  from  thee?  What  have  I  done  that 
thou  shouldst  persecute  me  longer?  Now  I  am  with  him 
again,  and  all  thy  malice  shall  be  defeated." 

She  looked  at  me  with  all  her  innocent  and  loving  heart 
in  her  eyes.     She  breathed  her  spirit  into  myself. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  Francesca,  fear  him  not.  But  my  hour 
is  come,  and  I  shall  have  vengeance  on  this  villain." 


510     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  Sayest  thou  so?"  he  said,  urging  his  mule  still  towards 
me  as  I  supposed,  and  almost  trampling  down  Bermudez 
in  his  way.  The  Gitanos  seemed  half  disposed  to  aid  him; 
they  looked  threateningly  at  me  and  the  Captain,  and  one 
or  two  of  them  drew  forth  their  long  knives. 

"  No  man  shall  lift  his  hand  against  Dom  Balthazar," 
said  one ;  "  we  all  owe  him  fealt}',  and  he  has  but  to  say 
the  word  and  we  shall  obey  him." 

"  True,  my  brother,"  he  cried  out,  "  but  this  is  a  traitor 
knave  who  has  broken  every  law  of  the  tribe,  and  deserves 
death.  The  woman  is  my  wife,  and  I  shall  have  her,  or 
know  why,  in  his  heart's  blood." 

The  gypsies  were  about  to  deliver  over  the  litter  and  its 
burthen  tp  Dom  Balthazar,  when  rrancesca  sprang  out  of 
it,  and  placed  herself  beside  me. 

"Good  people!"  she  exclaimed,  " it  is  false — all  falsel 
here  only  is  my  husband,"  and  she  hung  on  my  neck; 
"  that  man  has  always  been  my  deadly  foe." 

"  It  must  be  true,"  said  Bermudez :  "men,  come  forward 
and  arrest  this  scoundrel,"  and  he  called  to  St.  Joseph, 
who  was  laughing  beside  him,  in  his  usual  wild  way,  and 
caring  little  what  took  place,  so  long  as  there  were  blows 
and  fun. 

A  deadl}''  fight  appeared  imminent.  The  Gitanos  were 
evidently  disposed  to  believe  Dom  Balthazar  in  preference 
to  me,  when  the  latter  rode  right  against  me,  and  lifting 
his  dagger,  aimed,  I  know  not  at  which,  but  Francesca 
flung  herself  before  me,  and  received  the  blow  in  her  bosom. 

Who  can  describe  the  yell  of  fierce  revenge  with  which 
this  diabolical  villain  at  length  accomplished  the  pui'pose 
of  his  soul  ?  He  raised  his  dagger,  reeking  with  her  blood, 
and  sliaking  it  in  the  air,  kissed  it,  and  ere  I  could  recover 
from  my  stupor  he  was  gone.  Several  of  the  gj^psies  pur- 
sued him,  but  he  warned  them  off  with  some  mysterious 
gibberish,  which  seemed  to  awe  them  all.   The  bandits  then 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     511 

took  the  chase,  but  all  traces  of  Dom  Balthazar  were  lost. 
For  my  part  I  was  transfixed  with  deadly  horror.  I  flung 
myself  on  the  earth  beside  her,  and  groaned  aloud.  Some 
women  now  ran  up  to  us ;  we  gently  lifted  her  on  the  rude 
litter,  and  bore  her  to  the  Albaycin — there  was  no  other 
refuge  for  either  her  or  me.  She  was  placed  in  a  cave 
which  belonged  to  the  Duke  himself.  It  was  trellised  with 
mj'rtle,  orange  and  other  odoriferous  trees ;  eglantine,  cle- 
matis, and  the  wild  vine  lent  their  sweet  shades  over  and 
ab<  ut  it.  The  Gitanos  seemed  to  have  forgotten  their  own 
troubles  in  this  dread  catastrophe  of  one  so  3'oung,  so  inno- 
cent, so  beautiful;  and  though  the  parents  pressed  their 
rescued  babes  to  their  hearts,  and  covered  them  with  kisses 
and  endearments,  yet  still  I  could  detect  many  an  anxious, 
pitying  glance  upon  her  who  had  but  a  moment  ago  shone 
like  some  lovely  lily  of  the  stream,  but  who  now,  with 
broken  stalk  and  drooping  head,  was  passing  away  into 
dark  oblivion  that  is  in  death.  The  blood  had  ceased  to 
flow,  for  they  had  bound  up  the  wound ;  but  when  the 
leech  of  eighty  years  who  knew  the  force  of  every  healing 
herb  and  drug  saw  her,  he  shook  his  head,  and  intimated 
that  all  was  over. 

"  0,  my  own,  my  loved,  my  long  lost,  lately  found  Fran- 
cesca,"  I  exclaimed,  "art  thou  indeed  leaving  me  forever? 
For  this  have  I  endured  sleepless  nights  and  days  of  agony  7 
for  this  have  1  abandoned  home  and  friends,  and  all  that 
reconciles  to  hated  life  ?  Thou  who  art  the  spirit  of  my 
own  soul,  art  passing  away;  thou  knowest  me  not,  thou 
canst  not  give  me  sign  or  token  that  in  thy  heart  I  still 
am  loved ;  neither  canst  thou  open  wide  the  mystery  that 
has  so  long  concealed  thee  from  thy  husband-lover.  Oh, 
wake!  wake!  look  upon  me  once  again  before  thou  departest 
forever;  let  those  sacred  eyes  shine  upon  me,  and  speak; 
let  me  know  what  thou  hast  endured,  that  if  I  live  I  may 
at  least  avenge  thy  wrongs.     Ah,  poor  child!   a  sad  and 


612     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

wretched  destiny  has  thine  been.  Torn  in  earliest  youth 
from  all  that  could  make  thee  happy,  thou  wert  brought 
up  alone,  and  far  away  from  all  the  sweetest  sympathies 
of  life.  For  a  brief  space  thou  hadst  a  dream  of  light  and 
beauty — for  a  brief  space  the  hallowed  paradise  of  love  was 
opened  unto  thee,  and  we  did  walk  together  in  its  gardens ; 
but  a  hand  and  sword  of  fire  expelled  us,  and  since  then 
our  wanderings  have  been  wide  and  many.  For  me  the 
glory  of  my  youth  and  hope  is  gone ;  for  thee  thy  life  is 
ebbing  fast,  and  thou  knowest  not  that  I  am  beside  thee. 
Speak,  speak  1  wake !  or  I  shall  go  mad — if  indeed  I  am 
not  already  so  with  many  woes — but  this,  the  darkest  of 
them  all,"  and  I  flung  myself  on  the  earth  beside  Fran- 
cesca,  hopeless,  nerveless  and  heart-broken. 

In  an  hour  my  sweet  wife  revived,  in  an  hour  the  soft 
and  star-like  light  of  those  heavenly  eyes  was  again  cast 
upon  her  husband-lover.  But  death  was  in  their  mild 
beam.  Her  hours  were  numbered;  before  the  Morning 
Star  glittered  on  high,  she  would  be  far  away — far,  far 
away  in  the  Unknown  and  Silent  Regions,  whither  I  could 
not  go.  While  she  was  here,  she  was  mine,  and  no  man, 
no  power  could  come  between  her  and  me ;  in  a  few  fleet- 
ing minutes  I  should  no  longer  have  dominion  over  her. 
She  would  be  the  inhabitant  of  another  realm — the  subject 
of  another  sceptre,  the  lonely  denizen  of  another  sphere, 
into  which  no  mortal  foot  could  enter.  She  stretched  forth 
her  feeble  hand,  and  touched  my  brow,  and  head,  and  cheek. 
The  magic  of  her  touch  penetrated  me,  as  the  touch  of 
Alia  penetrated  his  apostle,  Ahmed,  the  Ambassador  of 
the  Most  High.  It  ran  through  my  being.  It  was  like 
the  hand  of  Death — but  the  hand  of  Death  guided  by  un- 
dying Love. 

"  Oh,  Francesca !  Oh,  my  wife !  is  it  thus  that  we  meet 
again — ^meeting  but  to  be  separated  forever  ?  Thou  knowest 
my  agony ;  yet  see  it  not,  but  pass  in  peace." 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      513 

"Wortley,"  she  said,  "  my  own  love,  better  is  it  that  I 
should  die  at  once,  than  live  longer  to  be  the  sport  of 
chance.  From  my  childhood  upward,  what  have  I  known 
but  wretchedness  ?  I  am  one  of  tliose  doomed  to  be  un- 
lucky— nay,  look  not  so,  for  there  are  many  who  are  fated 
to  be  unhappy.  Well  did  the  Wise  Man  of  the  Hebrew 
people  say,  '  The  race  is  not  to  the  swift ;  nor  the  battle  to 
the  strong.'  Every  day  I  have  lived  I  have  felt  this  to  be 
the  truth.  I  am  the  daughter  of  ill-luck.  It  is  better  that 
I  should  pass  away." 

"  0,  Francesca,  sayest  thou  so  ?  Is  this  the  justice  of 
Heaven — to  give  to  one  the  happiness  which  it  withholds 
from  others  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  she  answered ;  "  I  cannot  penetrate  the 
secret  ordinances  of  God.  I  believe,  I  know,  that  He  is 
Most  Just.  But  I  know  also  that  some  are  fortunate,  and 
others  are  unfortunate ;  that  there  are  many  who  pine  and 
toil,  and  are  unhappy  all  their  lives,  while  they  possess  the 
noblest  attributes  of  mankind ;  while  there  are  others  who 
reach  the  proudest  heights  of  mortal  glory,  yet  are  the 
lowest  and  most  vicious  of  human  beings.  But  God  judges 
not  as  we  judge.  He  alone  is  Wise  and  All-knowing — but 
we  are  only  poor  blind  moles,  who  see  nothing  truly.  Glad, 
therefore,  am  I,  that  I  am  passing  away — for  I  am  of  the 
unlucky ;  nor  can  I  bring  to  others  that  which  I  possess 
not  myself.  But  thou,  mine  own,  shalt  be  soon  separated 
from  her,  who  gave  thee  no  enjoyment." 

"  0,  Francesca,  say  not  so.  Thou  wert  my  joy,  my  life, 
my  heaven  on  earth.  Thou  also  didst  first  reconcile  me  to 
existence ;  thou  alone  didst  first  teach  me  to  believe  in  a 
God  of  Justice.  Until  I  knew  thee,  I  was  as  one  who  wan- 
ders in  a  desert,  who  had  no  thought  of  God  or  the  Future. 
But  when  I  learned  thy  gentle  virtues,  then  was  I  convinced 
that  it  was  not  chance,  but  a  Supreme  superior  Power  that 
made  thee  what  thou  art ;  the  type  of  all  that  is  pure,  holy, 


514     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

eacred  and  exalted;  and  knowing  thee,  I  first  began  to 
know  what  God  was  and  is." 

She  paused,  and  seemed  buried  in  thought.  Perhaps  it 
was  weakness. 

"  Wortley,"  she  said,  "  I  am  dying.  In  an  hour  I  shall 
be  no  more.  The  dagger  has  pierced  me  to  the  heart.  We 
shall  be  separated  soon  forever." 

"  Oh !  not  forever,"  I  cried,  "  say  not,  that  it  is  forever." 

She  faintly  smiled.  "No,"  she  answered,  "not  forever 
— we  shall  meet  again  above.  But  hearken  now  to  what  I 
say.  Thou  wouldst  know  my  history  since  we  met;  in 
brief  have  it,  for  I  cannot  hold  out  long." 

I  begged  her  to  hoard  her  strength;  I  endeavored  to 
cheer,  to  comfort  her,  to  give  her  hope ;  all  my  exertions 
were  vain. 

"  I  am  djang,"  she  said,  "  dying  fast.  I  feel  my  strength 
momentarily  going.  The  gate  that  lets  my  spirit  out  is 
open.     Hearken  to  me  before  I  die." 

"Thou  rememberest  our  last  parting — alas !  we  dreamed 
not  that  it  was  our  last.  I  sat  up  for  thee  late  that  night. 
I  counted  the  slow  hours.  I  had  got  for  thee  the  little 
supper  which  thou  wert  wont  to  have ;  I  prepared  it  as  of 
old  with  m}''  own  hands,  and  sat  by  the  fire,  murmuring 
the  old  ballads  which  we  loved  so  well.  The  hours  passed, 
but  thou  didst  not  come.  I  heard  St.  PauJin  strike  twelve 
— the  long  funereal  sound  went  into  my  soul  like  a  death- 
knell.  Never  before  hadst  thou  been  absent  from  me  so 
long — ^never  before  had  I  so  waited  for  thee  in  vain.  The 
fire  was  dying  out,  but  I  heaped  fresh  logs  on,  and  strove 
to  sing,  and  strove  to  while  away  the  lonely  moments  OA'er 
the  songs  of  Tasso ;  but  an  unknown  gloom  seized  me.  I 
could  no  longer  read  or  sing,  or  do  otherwise  than  think  ; 
and  all  my  thoughts  were  now  grown  dark  and  melancholy. 
One  o'clock,  and  thou  wert  not  returned.  The  sound 
entered  my  heart  like  a  knife.     Two — three — struck,  and 


ED  W  ARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  615 

then  I  thought  thou  liaclst  gone  home  with  on«  of  thy 
friends,  and  so  I  considered  no  more  about  it,  but  retired 
to  bed.  To  bed — but  not  to  sleep.  I  tossed  all  the  re- 
mainder of  the  night  uneasily  on  my  pillow.  In  the  morn- 
ing I  was  up  by  six.  He  will  return  early  to  breakfast,  I 
said,  and  I  prepared  all  for  thee.  The  little  bird  sang  in 
his  cage ;  the  little  geraniums  put  forth  their  flowers  ;  but 
bird  and  blossom  were  unheeded  when  thou  wert  away. 
Six — seven  — eight  —  nine  —  ten  —  eleven  —  twelve.  Oh ! 
weary,  weary,  were  those  long  hours  I  I  now  began  to  get 
alarmed.  It  was  evident  that  something  unusual  must 
have  happened.  Thou  wert  not  wont  to  leave  thy  poor 
bird  thus  for  any  length  of  time — thy  poor  l«nely  bird, 
Francesca,  that  always  pined  when  thou  wert  away.  I 
strove  again  to  divert  my  thoughts  by  reading — but  I  could 
not.  I  seemed  encircled  by  a  dark  cloud ;  my  eyes  saw 
blood ;  my  heart  felt  instinctively  that  there  was  something 
nigh  which  would  appal  me.  I  strove  to  eat  a  morsel  of 
breakfast,  but  it  was  like  a  lump  of  fire  in  my  throat.  I 
could  not  swallow,  so  I  went  into  a  corner  and  cried.  Yes, 
Wortley,  I  cried  for  a  whole  hour.  This  relieved  me.  At 
the  end  of  that  time,  I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door.  Judge 
of  my  delight,  my  rapture,  when  it  was  a  message  from 
thee — a  message  from  my  own  loved  one,  who  had  not  for- 
gotten me. 

"  Thou  hadst  been  to  Twickenham — thou  hadst  sought 
and  seen  thy  father.  Thou  hadst  confessed  all — he  had 
forgiven  his  prodigal  son,  and  all  was  well.  Thy  mother 
had  joined  her  tears  with  his  and  thine ;  never  was  there  a 
more  happy  union.  It  wanted  only  my  presence  to  make 
all  perfect.  I  was  to  come  at  once.  Thou  didst  apologize 
for  not  hastening  to  accompany  me,  but  thy  father  could 
not  bear  to  part  with  thee — to  leave  his  sight  after  so  long 
an  absence  was  more  than  he  could  endure.  Fancy  my 
joy.     Conceive  the  heartfelt  transport  of  my  soul.     Nay, 


516  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

Wortley,  my  own  darling  love,  blame  me  not  that  I  believed 
this  tale.  I  was  so  sad,  so  excited  at  thine  absence,  that  I 
would  have  believed  any  thing  that  purported  to  come  from 
thee.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was  ready.  A  liackney-coach 
was  at  the  door.  I  kissed  the  bed  where  thou  hadst  slept ; 
the  glass  that  thou  hadst  touched.  I  am  going  to  him,  I 
said  ;  we  shall  be  happy  and  united  for  evermore.  Away, 
wild  thoughts !  torment  me  not ;  with  Wortley's  love,  my 
life  is  heaven ;  earth  a  paradise. 

"  I  gave  my  glad  news  to  the  woman  of  the  house,  and 
descended  the  stairs.  The  carriage  was  empty,  but  there 
was  a  man  with  the  driver.  The  latter  touched  his  hat. 
'  He  is  a  friend,  my  lady,'  he  said,  '  who  has  asked  me  to 
give  him  a  lift  on  the  road.  May  I  do  so  ?  If  not,  he  shall 
go  down.' 

"  I  was  so  happy  myself  that  I  could  not  deny  any  thing 
that  another  needed.  'By  all  means,' I  said;  'I  shall  be 
glad  to  serve  him  in  his  necessity.     Drive  on.' 

"We  went  on  rapidly.  I  did  not  know  the  road  to 
Twickenham,  nor  did  I  suspect  any  thing.  I  lay  back  in 
the  coach,  immersed  in  happy,  golden  dreams.  I  was  to 
see  my  husband ;  to  embrace  my  new  parents ;  to  take  a 
recognized  place  in  society.  For  thy  sake,  my  Wortley,  I 
was  pleased.  I  cared  not  for  the  change  on  my  own  ac- 
count ;  I  was  happy  with  thee  in  a  garret,  or  anywhere ;  I 
required  not  any  thing  but  thy  heart.  That  was  my  world ; 
it  was  for  that  alone  I  lived.  We  stopped  at  a  house  on  a 
lone  heath.  It  was  a  large  house,  but  there  was  an  air  of 
desolation  about  it.  I  had  heard  of  thy  father's  parsi- 
mony, and  I  supposed  this  desolate,  wild  place  was  in 
accordance  with  it.  But  I  wondered,  as  we  drove  up  the 
bare  avenue  that  led  to  it,  that  I  saw  thee  not.  I  hoped 
for  thy  welcome  presence.  I  thought  thou  wouldst  rush 
to  meet  me ;  but  the  friendly  eye  and  smile  greeted  not  thy 
fond  wife.    Presently,  I  thought,  presently  I  shall  be  la 


EDWARD  WORTLEy  MONTAGU.      617 

his  arms  and  shall  forget  all.  We  stopped  at  the  door, 
and  the  man  who  had  come  with  the  driver  dismounted 
and  knocked.  It  seemed  a  long  while  before  it  was  opened. 
I  was  amazed  to  hear  the  sound  of  bolts  and  locks.  It  was 
slowly  unbarred ;  it  seemed  a  massive  door,  and  moved 
heavily  on  its  hinges.  A  servant  came  out  and  bowed.  I 
descended  and  entered.  As  I  did  so,  the  man  said,  '  This 
is  the  mad  lady,'  and  disappeared.  The  door  closed  on 
me,  and  I  found  myself  in  a  vast  and  cheerless  hall." 

Here  she  paused ;  exhaustion  seemed  to  come  upon  her ; 
she  was  half  fainting ;  when  one  of  the  Gitanos  gave  her  a 
cordial,  which  revived  her.  She  endeavored  to  collect  her 
thoughts ;  but  I  could  see  the  damp  dews  of  death  upon 
that  sainted  brow.  Oh,  how  I  cursed  my  fate  I  I  writhed 
in  agony,  but  I  repressed  my  feelings  and  was  still.  I 
wonder  my  heart  did  not  burst  in  twain.  Would  to  God 
that  it  had! 

"  My  own  Wortley,"  she  said,  "  I  have  but  little  to  add. 
I  was  a  prisoner.  I  was  locked  up  and  treated  as  an  insane 
person.  When  I  spoke  of  you,  I  was  laughed  at.  When  I 
endeavored  to  interest  the  woman  who  waited  on  me  with 
some  allusions  to  the  past,  I  was  treated  as  a  hopeless  lu- 
natic who  was  not  to  be  noticed  or  listened  to ;  but  every 
word  was  to  be  regarded  as  an  idle  raving.  I  would  will- 
ingly shut  it  out  from  memory.  To  me  it  seemed  an  age  ; 
but  I  know  not  whether  it  was  weeks  or  months.  It  was 
all  oblivion  and  death  so  long  as  I  had  not  thee.  What 
weary  days  and  nights  I  passed  I  What  dreary  hours  did 
I  go  through  !  What  spheres  of  lonel}',  desolate  thought  I 
I  sighed  only  for  thee.  I  thought  only  of  thee.  I  suppose 
I  was  punished  because  I  never  thought  of  God.  But  thou 
wert  my  God.  Alas !  I  ought  not  to  have  made  any  mortal 
so.  Yet  even  still  as  I  tread  the  dark  bridge  that  leads  to 
Eternity,  I  see  thee — only  thee.  Thou  art  my  only  star— 
my  only  hope — my  only  heaven  I  Ah  I  me.  What  speak 
33 


518^  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

I  ?  God  forgive  me ;  but,  Wortley,  thou  art  my  very  soul 
forever  and  ever." 

She  revived  again,  and  resumed ;  but  her  voice  was  now 
more  faint  and  sad  than  ever.  The  dark  enemy  of  life  had 
made  rapid  approach  within  the  last  few  minutes. 

"  One  night,  midnight  it  must  have  been,  I  was  suddenly 
called  up  and  forced  to  dress.  My  clothes  were  huddled 
on  ;  my  trunk  packed  with  the  little  that  it  contained ;  and 
I  was  put  into  a  carriage.  A  man  was  inside,  but  I  noted 
him  not.  We  drove  off  rapidly.  We  drove  for  several 
hours  until  the  stars  sank  one  by  one  out  of  the  heavens, 
and  the  morning  dawned,  bleak,  cold,  and  gloomy.  I  was 
utterl}'  weak  and  nerveless.  A  feather  would  have  knocked 
me  down.  I  now  scanned  my  companion.  He  had  re- 
mained silent  all  the  night,  muffled  up  in  a  large  cloak,  but 
it  seemed  he  did  so  rather  for  warmth  than  to  conceal  him- 
self; for  I  could  observe  no  attempt  to  screen  his  face. 
Thou  wilt  wonder  who  he  was.  It  was  Dom  Balthazar. 
[A  cold  pang  shot  through  my  soul,  but  I  remained  out- 
wardly unmoved.]  I  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly 
before  I  could  be  positive  that  it  was  he.  At  length,  he 
looked  at  me  steadfastly,  saying : 

" '  Do  you  know  me  ?' 

" '  Yes,'  I  said  ;  '  you  are  Balthazar,  the  gypsy. 

" '  The  same,'  he  answered.  '  Hast  any  thing  to  say  to 
me?' 

" '  Why  am  I  here  ?     Where  is  my  husband  ?' 

" '  These  are  questions  I  cannot  answer  now.  But  you 
are  going  to  j^our  husband.  He  has  left  England  in  search 
of  you.  I  only  heard  so  last  night.  The  moment  I  did,  I 
resolved  to  place  you  in  his  hands  without  further  delay.' 

"  '  Balthazar,'  I  said,  '  this  is  a  lie.  You  do  not  mean  to 
take  me  to  my  husband.' 

"  He  swore  that  he  was  telling  me  the  truth  ;  he  swore  it 
with  such  awful  oaths  that  1  half  believed  him.     Alas  1 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      619 

what  will  not  powerful  hope  persuade  the  heart?  Even 
when  we  sink  into  the  abyss  of  waters,  and  all  around  is 
tempest,  we  do  not  quite  despair  of  succor.  I  remained 
silent  in  meditation.  The  man  also  spoke  not.  We 
changed  horses,  and  got  to  the  river  side ;  I  suppose  it  was 
somewhere  below  London.  I  was  now  passive  in  his 
hands.  As  we  approached  the  place,  he  drew  a  'pistol 
and  said: 

"'You  know  me;  I  shall  have  no  noise  made.  Your 
true  polic}'  is  to  be  silent;  if  not,  you  shall.  I  will  do  you 
no  hurt  unless  you  compel  me ;  but  if  you  do,  I  shall  shoot 
you  on  the  instant,  and  I  have  prepared  measures  so  that 
it  will  appear  you  did  it  yourself.' 

"  I  was  terrified  by  his  threats.  I  have  since  known  that 
they  were  foolish,  and  that  I  ought  to  have  despised  them 
and  called  out  at  all  hazards ;  but,  dear  Wortley,  all  my 
courage  was  gone.  I  had  had  neither  food  nor  sleep.  I 
was  beside  a  reckless,  deadly  villain,  who  I  knew  would 
stop  at  nothing  to  gain  his  ends.  I  hoped  to  find  some  one 
in  the  ship  who  would  defend  me  from  him.  I  went  on 
board,  or  rather  I  was  taken  on  board,  for  I  was  so  weak 
that  I  could  hardly  walk.  I  was  carried  down  into  a  cabin, 
and  left  alone  with  a  woman ;  but  I  fainted,  and  when  I 
recovered  I  was  in  bed. 

"I  remember  but  little  more.  A  long  time  passed — a 
long  and  gloomy  time.  I  took  no  heed  of  it.  Whether  it 
was  days,  or  months,  or  years,  it  was  all  the  same  to  mo. 
I  was  in  a  convent.  I  was  surrounded  by  women  who  be- 
sought me  to  take  the  veil,  and  spoke  smooth  words.  But 
I  distrusted  all  their  arts.  Instinct  whispered  to  me  that 
they  were  my  foes,  and  I  hearkened  not  to  them.  They 
told  me  that  thou  hadst  perished  at  sea,  and  that  it  was  thy 
dying  command  that  I  should  take  the  veil;  I  believed 
them  not.  I  had  now  become  so  suspicious  in  all  thiugs, 
that  I  trusted  no  one.     Hour  by  hour  this  wretched  impur- 


520     EDWARD   WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

tunity  continued ;  my  life  was  all  miserable.  At  length  I 
said  :  '  Why  should  I  be  a  nun  ?  I  have  no  faith  in  your 
religion ;  I  have  a  religion  of  my  own.  Your  creed  is  all 
show ;  my  creed  is  of  the  heart  within.'  What  more  I  said 
I  know  not,  but  I  was  soon  after  taken  to  the  Holy  Office, 
as  it  is  called.  I  had  spoken  blasphemy ;  those  to  whom  I 
had  spoken  it  revealed  it  in  confession,  as  they  were  bound 
to  do.  The  Inquisition  never  pardons  words  like  these ;  I 
was  brought  before  them,  and  mildly  questioned.  But 
thou  knowest  their  manner — the  mildness  of  the  dove — the 
poison  of  the  serpent.  I  answered  little ;  I  learned  that  I 
was  condemned.  I  found  by  their  questions,  and  by  the 
papers  which  they  sent  me  to  my  cell,  that  I  was  unknown ; 
I  had  been  given  over  to  them  under  a  false  name.  Had 
they  known  who  I  was,  I  suppose  they  would  have  sent  me 
elsewhere ;  they  would  scarcely  have  risked  placing  me  so 
near  thee.  I  bless  God  that  they  did  so,  for  to  die  thus  in 
thine  arms,  my  husband,  is  the  sole  pleasure  I  have  had  for 
years.  Oh  !  better  is  it  so  to  pass  away  than  to  have  lived 
a  prisoner  in  a  cell  alone." 

Again  she  fainted ;  again  the  woman  gave  her  that  vivi- 
fying  cordial,  and  she  strove  to  sit  up,  but  she  could  not. 
She  opened  her  eyes,  but  saw  me  not. 

"  Wortley,  my  husband,  where  art  thou  ?"  she  said.  "I 
cannot  see  thee." 

"  I  am  here,  Francesca ;  here  by  thy  side ;"  and  I  guided 
her  hand  to  my  face. 

"  0,  my  husband  I  bless  thee — ^bless  thee !  But  the  last 
minute  is  come.     Would  that  I  could  see  thee  once  again." 

She  stroked  my  face  with  her  poor,  feeble  hand,  as  well 
as  she  could,  and  fell  back  heavily  on  my  arm.  I  laid  her 
geutly  down  on  the  bed.  All  the  women  were  dissolved  in 
tears.  Her  eyes  were  closed.  We  thought  her  gone  for- 
ever.   But  it  was  not  so.     She  opened  them  in  a  little  time, 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     621 

and  looked  at  me.  A  holy  and  immortal  light  beamed  out 
of  them. 

"God  be  blessed,"  she  murmured,  "He  has  heard  my 
prayer.  My  husband,  I  sec  thee  ;  kiss  me  once  more — 
thou  knowcst  not  how  I  have  loved  thee,"  and  a  smile 
came  over  that  innocent  face. 

I  bent  to  kiss  her ;  and  as  I  pressed  my  lips  to  hers,  her 
spirit  parted.  A  bright  and  heavenly  splendor  illuminated 
her  face  for  a  moment.  It  was  like  the  Aurora  light  of  the 
northern  heaven.  It  gleamed  and  was  gone.  She  was  no 
more  on  earth.     She  was  in  the  Infinite  and  Eternal. 

What  more  occurred  I  know  not.  I  fell  down  stricken 
to  the  heart.  When  I  regained  my  sense,  they  told  me 
that  she  had  been  buried  a  week.  It  was  so.  Fare  thee 
well,  Francesca — mine  own — my  holy  one — ^but  not  forever. 
In  another  Land  of  Beauty  we  shall  meet. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Now  there  remained  but  one  duty,  and  that  was  ven- 
geance. This  I  had  sworn  to  have,  and  I  did  not  like  to 
break  a  vow  which  I  had  once  made.  I  inquired  for  Dom 
Balthazar ;  to  my  amazement  I  found  that  he  had  not  left 
Granada.  I  had  supposed  that  he  was  far  away,  and  that 
1  should  have  had  great  difllculty  in  tracking  him ;  but 
here  he  was  within  my  reach,  apparently  determined  to 
fight  it  out  whenever  I  felt  inclined  to  give  him  the  oppor- 
tunity. Single  combat  with  this  wretch  was  not  what  he 
merited.  I  resolved  to  kill  him  unrelentingly  the  first  mo- 
ment I  could  do  so.  On  further  inquiry  I  found,  however, 
that  although  he  had  not  indeed  left  Granada,  he  was  con- 


522     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

cealed  in  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  was  in  hourly  communi- 
cation with  tlie  Gitanos.  Some  business  of  the  last  impor- 
tance detained  liira,  it  was  said  :  he  was  hastening  to  con- 
clude it  bj'  ever}^  means ;  and  I  was  assured  bj'  my  informant 
— one  of  the  band  on  whom  I  could  rely — that  he  was  in 
agony  of  fear  lest  he  should  fall  in  with  me,  for  his  con- 
science, perhaps  his  instinct,  told  him,  that  when  we  next 
met,  one  or  both  of  us  must  fall,  and  that  our  encounter 
was  to  be  war  to  the  knife.  I  communicated  with  Bermu- 
dez,  and  sought^  his  advice  and  assistance.  That  grave 
commander  mused  and  hesitated. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  right  in  killing 
Dom  Balthazar  cannot  admit  of  any  doubt.  All  the  Vati- 
can priests  will  absolve  you,  and  even  the  Holy  Office  will 
give  you  absolution  for  so  virtuous  a  deed.  There  are  two 
vrajs  of  killing  a  man — one  is  that  in  which  whilst  you 
destroy  him,  3'ou  perish  yourself;  the  other  is  that  in  which 
while  he  perishes,  you  3'ourseif  get  off  scot  free.  If  you 
are  for  the  first  of  these  you  will  have  no  trouble;  you 
have  only  to  denounce  him  to  the  police  as  a  murderer, 
and  he  will  be  garroted,  but  you  will  be  again  locked  up 
for  life  in  the  Inquisition,  or  probably  put  to  death  for 
having  been  mixed  up  in  our  little  siege  of  Troy.  For  my 
own  part  I  don't  approve  of  the  first  mode  at  all ;  but  1 
prefer  the  second  course,  which  is  the  pleasantest  in  the 
end." 

"  Captain,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  no  desire  to  bring  my- 
self within  the  hands  of  the  priests  again,  and  time  presses. 
We  must  all  depart  from  this  place,  and  speedily,  or  the 
whole  country  will  be  upon  us  for  our  late  affair.  But  jus- 
tice imperatively  demands  that  the  man  shall  die;  and  if 
I  cannot  myself  find  him,  I  must  then  denounce  the  murder 
to  the  authorities;  so  that  I  destroy  him,  I  disregard  what 
happens  to  myself.  There  are  some  things  for  which  I 
wish  to  live,  and  I  will  live  if  I  can ;  but  be  it  life,  or  be  it 


EDWARD     WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  623 

death,  Balthazar  must  perish.  We  two  cannot  live  on  the 
same  earth." 

" I  think,"  replied  the  Captain,  "that  it  is  always  better 
to  live  than  go  into  the  grave.  It  is  a  cold  and  lonely 
place ;  or  if  you  have  comi)anion8  they  are  but  a  poor  set 
of  worms.  I  applaud  your  resolution  to  keep  yourself  in 
a  whole  skin ;  and  I  equally  think  that  Balthazar  must  die. 
Indeed,  it  is  now  come  to  this  that  one  of  you  must  cease 
to  live  for  the  security  of  the  other.  Neither  of  you  can 
sleep  in  peace.  The  next  question  is,  How  he  must  die  ?  I 
know  a  friend  who,  for  a  small  consideration,  will  stab  him 
when  you  say  the  word.  Nay,  for  one  like  me,  he  will  do 
it  out  of  pure  pleasure." 

"  That  would  not  do  at  all,"  I  answered :  "  I  mean  to 
stab  him  myself." 

Captain  Bermudez  opened  his  eyes  and  laughed.  Ho 
shook  my  hand. 

"  By  the  Holy  Virgin !  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "  IIow 
came  I  not  to  think  of  it  ?  Body  o'  me,  but  I  grow  as  dull 
as  a  monk." 

And  the  gallant  fellow  laughed  again,  and  rubbed  his 
great  hands,  and  flung  his  arms  around  me,  and  kissed  me 
on  either  cheek. 

Disengaging  myself  from  his  embrace,  I  inquired — 

"  Can  you  bring  me  to  the  place  where  he  is  concealed  f 
That  is  all  I  want." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can,"  he  rejoined.  "  The  Sierra 
Nevada  is  no  small  mountain,  and  it  is  full  of  nooks  and 
corners,  and  caverns  since  the  hiding  days  of  the  Moors; 
so  that  you  might  search  for  a  hundred  years  and  not  find 
your  man.  But  fortune  always  leaves  a  door  open.  I  will 
put  one  of  my  best  scouts  upon  his  scent,  and  if  the  wit  of 
man  can  find  him,  he  shall  be  found.  Confide  in  me,  Senor, 
and  all  will  be  well.  To  an  old  dog  you  need  not  say  tus^ 
tus.    We  shall  ourselves  leave  this  place  In  a  few  da/s  to 


524     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

let  our  recent  little  pleasantry  blow  over ;  but  here,  there 
and  everywhere  you  may  command  us." 

I  thanked  the  Captain,  and  waited  eagerly  for  our  next 
meeting.  He  came  to  me  on  the  following  day  about  sun- 
set.    His  eyes  sparkled ;  I  knew  that  he  was  successful. 

"  Senor,"  he  said,  "  I  have  found  your  man ;  he  is  hidden 
in  the  Mulhacen.  From  all  I  can  discover  he  leaves  Granada 
in  a  day  or  two,  never  to  return.  He  intends,  we  are  told, 
to  sail  over  to  Africa.  Now,  therefore,  is  your  time,  or 
never.  You  can  have  two  of  my  men  as  guides,  and  my 
best  mules  or  horses  for  your  expedition.  But  you  had  best 
set  out  to-night." 

I  thanked  him  with  all  my  heart,  and  immediatel}^  got 
ready.  I  borrowed  a  pair  of  pistols  and  a  dagger,  of  finest 
keenest  steel,  from  Bermudez,  and  wrapping  myself  up  in 
a  large  cloak  I  started  with  my  companion  for  the  bandits' 
quarters.  We  reached  them  about  nine  o'clock,  and  Ber- 
mudez added  to  the  scout,  who  had  discovered  the  retreat 
of  Balthazar,  our  old  friend  Julian  Komea,  who  willingly 
joined  me  in  mj'  holy  expedition.  They  put  up  a  quan- 
tity of  provisions,  and  we  proceeded  on  our  way  at  mid- 
night. We  took  several  mules,  and  three  noble  Andalu- 
sian  steeds. 

I  was  now  going  on  the  most  just  and  honorable  expe- 
dition that  ever  man  had  taken.  The  career  of  Balthazar 
seemed  to  have  been  that  of  a  villain  from  his  cradle.  By 
his  own  account,  he  had  dealt  in  blood  and  murder  ever 
since  he  could  do  any  thing.  Poison  and  the  knife  were 
familiar  to  him.  He  was  in  truth  a  wild  beast  let  loose 
upon  society.  He  had  come  in  my  path,  and  crossed  me 
from  the  basest  and  most  mercenary  motives;  he  had 
vowed  enmity  against  me  without  a  single  act  of  provoca- 
tion, and  he  had  carried  out  that  enmity  by  driving  me 
from  the  gypsies,  where  I  had  so  long  been  domesticated, 
by  plotting  against  my  Fraucesca ;  by  forcing  us  to  flight ; 


BDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.      625 

by  procuring  my  own  confinement  and  her  abduction ;  and 
finally  by  his  cruel  murder  of  my  innocent  wife  in  my  very 
presevice.  My  own  fate  would  doubtless  follow,  unless  I 
purged  the  earth  of  such  a  wretch.  His  destruction,  there- 
fore, became  my  duty.  I  thought  of  Akiba,  and  the  simi- 
larity between  this  portion  of  our  lives,  and  though  my 
moral  feeling  made  me  admire  that  astonishing  sacrifice  of 
himself  to  duty,  which  Manasam's  life  had  developed,  my 
judgment  and  my  heaii;  rebelled  against  any  consideration 
operating  in  this  case  on  the  side  of  mercy.  "Is  not  re- 
venge the  law  of  nature?"  I  asked.  And  I  thought  of  the 
swallows  and  sparrows  which  I  had  seen  and  noted  so 
man3'  jears  before,  when  the  guilty  were  punished  even  to 
the  death,  by  the  instinctive  justice  that  was  in  the  very 
birds.  "  Had  Manasam  been  a  man,"  I  said,  "  he  should 
have  smitten  his  brother  to  the  heart,  if  in  truth  he  knew 
that  his  brother  was  a  party  to  that  foul  and  cruel  wrong." 
He  should  have  acted  like  the  wise  and  learned  Akiba,Jkvho 
destroyed  all  his  foes,  and  in  their  blood  appeared  the 
spirit  of  the  murdered. 

My  companion,  Julian,  strove  to  amuse  me,  or  to  lead 
me  into  conversation,  but  I  was  too  much  absorbed  in 
thoughts  like  these  to  attend  to  him,  or  to  answer  his  re- 
marks. The  moon  shone  above  us  as  an  orb  of  silver 
splendor,  and  lighted  up  the  whole  mountain  with  a  soft 
and  gorgeous  loveliness;  but  a  sad  and  melancholy  halo 
seemed  to  wrap  all  things,  and  when  I  gazed  upwards  to 
the  stars  they  seemed  to  gleam  over  me  with  a  cold,  re- 
proachful glance,  which  penetrated  to  my  heart.  But  wlien 
I  looked  before  me,  I  knew  that  in  the  mountain  dwelt  that 
fierce,  relentless  tiger,  who  had  destroyed  my  hopes  of 
earthly  happiness  forever.  I  was  resolved  that  no  feeling 
of  pity  or  compunction  should  stay  my  hand  until  it  was 
red  with  his  life-blood.  We  passed  over  the  smaller  hills, 
that  seemed  like  seas  suddenly  petrified,  and  reached  a 


526     EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

gentle  slope,  which  is  the  first  table  land.  We  rested  our 
mules  beside  a  little  spring,  whose  waters  sparkled  like  dia- 
monds over  the  green  grass ;  and  as  the  sun  now  began  to 
rise,  we  could  now  clearl}^  see  the  distant  peak  of  Mulhacen, 
where  I  knew  my  enemy  was  sleeping.  How  calm  and  holy 
it  looked  !  the  abode  of  innocence  itself  could  not  be  more 
still.  While  we  refreshed  ourselves,  a  huge  viper  stole  out 
of  some  adjacent  brushwood.  He  fixed  his  dark  eyes  upon 
us  and  hissed  fiercely,  a  greeting  which  our  guide  repaid 
by  thrusting  him  through  the  stomach  with  a  swordstick. 
Here  a  curious  incident  occurred.  A  little  bird  no  bigger 
than  mj'  finger  had  watched  our  proceedings  very  atten- 
tivel3%  No  sooner  was  the  viper  disabled  than  it  flew  up 
with  the  feathers  of  its  neck  standing  on  end ;  it  flapped 
its  wings,  and  piped  a  strange  and  shrill  note  of  exulta- 
tion. Every  time  that  any  portion  of  the  venomous  beast 
writhed  convulsivel}',  the  bird  shrank  back  in  deadlj'  fear ; 
soon,  however,  it  returned  to  the  charge,  and  pecked  the 
viper  with  its  beak,  after  which  it  would  rise  into  the  air 
tliree  or  four  feet,  chirping  loudly  again  and  again.  I  do 
not  know  what  the  serpent  could  have  done  in  its  lifetime 
to  the  little  bird,  or  what  was  the  feeling  of  hatred  we  had 
gratified  by  killing  the  vijDer ;  but  it  is  certain  that  I  never 
beheld  such  an  amount  of  delight  in  any  thing  before. 

"  It  is  a  good  omen,"  said  my  companion,  and  I  hailed 
it  as  such.  We  mounted  our  mules,  and  proceeded  onward 
in  silence. 

The  sun  had  now  fully  risen,  and  revealed  to  us  the  wild 
and  ragged  aspect  of  the  mountain.  We  could  no  longer 
see  the  summit,  for  each  separate  table  land  hid  all  that 
was  above  it;  but  we  could  form  an  idea  of  tlie  vast  extent 
over  which  we  traversed.  On  every  side  were  awful 
chasms,  deep  down  into  the  base  of  the  mountain.  I 
looked  into  them,  and  longed  to  fling  my  foe  headlong 
from  their  tops,  and  so  suspend  him  half-alive  on  one  of 


EDWARD  WORTLET  MONTAGU.      527 

the  naked  crags  that  rose  up  out  of  the  bottom,  until  he 
was  devoured  by  snakes,  or  cats,  or  vultures.  We  crossed 
a  pass  scarcely  two  feet  wide,  on  either  side  of  which 
3'awnod  one  of  these  frightful  abysses,  but  I  scarcely  saw 
them.  On  and  onward  seemed  to  be  the  onlj'  thought  of 
my  heart,  and  I  believe  I  should  have  walked  with  naked 
foot  over  a  red-hot  plank  of  iron  spikes,  without  feeling 
pain,  if  I  had  but  beheld  Dom  Balthazar  at  the  other  end, 
so  ardent  was  my  thirst  for  vengeance.  The  eagles  rose 
and  screamed  above  our  heads.  I  hailed  the  tutelar}' birds 
with  joy,  and  in  their  shrill  clang  I  recognized,  as  it  were, 
a  voice  from  heaven  urging  me  to  go  on,  on. 

We  were  here  met  by  a  caravan  of  donkey  drivers,  de- 
scending from  the  higher  points  of  the  mountain  with  their 
panniers  of  snow.  We  stopped  and  questioned  them.  My 
guide  was  the  spokesman.  Lifting  his  sombrero,  and  bow- 
ing profoundly,  he  asked  whether  they  had  met  any  one 
that  morning  on  the  upper  hills.  They  answered  no,  but 
on  the  day  before  they  had  seen  a  tall,  dark  man  with  a 
great  beard,  who  seemed  watching  the  distant  city  with  a 
large  glass,  and  was  so  intent  that  he  did  not  even  see  them 
pass.  We  bade  them  good-bye,  and  rode  on.  This  was 
Balthazar ;  I  knew  him  by  the  description.  He  was  then 
evidently  alarmed.  Probably  he  was  even  now  on  the 
alert.  Speed  was  necessary — in  rapidity  of  movement  was 
my  only  chance.  We  urged  on  our  mules  more  quickly 
than  ever.  The  Andalusian  horses  which  up  to  this  were 
led  by  a  youth  belonging  to  the  band  were  tetheretl  here, 
so  that  we  might  have  them  fresh  for  our  return.  The  boy 
stayed  with  them  to  watch. 

The  snow)'^  region  now  appeared.  We  had  got  to  tra- 
verse a  terrible  wild  of  rocks  and  precipices,  flung  as  it 
were  by  the  careless  hand  of  some  Titan  upon  the  ascend- 
ing slopes.  It  was  as  if  a  thousand  Stonehenges  were  here 
all  massed  into  one  confused  ruin.     We  saw  innumerable 


528      EDWAKD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

snakes  and  vipers,  and  disturbed  a  vast  variety  of  birds, 
whose  shrill  and  angry  cries  disconcerted  us  a  good  deal. 
They  protested  against  our  intrusion  on  their  domains. 
They  seemed  to  hate  the  face  of  man.  Had  they  but  known 
his  heart  as  intimately  as  I  have,  they  would  have  had 
bitter  i*eason  to  loathe  his  presence. 

From  this  place  we  could  see  an  immense  rock,  that  rose 
tOAvering  to  the  right.     My  guide  pointed  it  out. 

"  In  3'onder  nook,"  he  said,  "  the  man  you  seek  abides. 
If  you  speak,  let  it  be  in  whispers.  The  thin  air  carries 
the  voice  far,  and  j^our  approach  may  be  known  before  you 
are  quite  ready.  With  a  good  rifle  from  yonder  elevation, 
the  gypsy  thief  might  easily  shoot  you  to  the  heart.  He 
always  goes  armed." 

With  what  a  fierce  exulting  joy  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the 
accursed  dwelling  of  my  foe.  In  an  hour  we  should  be 
there ;  in  an  hour  I  should  grapple  with  the  destroyer  of 
Francesca,  and  rid  the  world  of  his  presence  forever.  Oh ! 
that  I  had  done  it  on  that  well-remembered  niglit,  when 
his  life  was  in  my  hands,  and  a  touch  of  the  trigger  would 
have  prevented  all  these  miseries  I  had  undergone;  would 
have  preserved  the  life  that  was  dearer  to  me  than  mine 
own ;  and  given  me  happiness  for  all  the  future.  It  was 
not  to  be ;  and  it  was  now  too  late  to  repine.  We  dis- 
mounted again  under  the  covert  of  some  of  the  vast  firs 
with  which  the  place  was  filled;  our  mules  were  sadly  tired ; 
we  ourselves  also  were  in  need  of  refreshment,  and  we  were 
quite  sure  that  if  Balthazar  had  not  already  escaped,  and 
were  in  the  mountain,  he  could  not  now  elude  us.  We  let  our 
mules  browse  freely,  and  gave  ourselves  up  to  the  necessary 
indulgence  of  food  and  rest.  The  sun  was  now  in  his 
zenitli ;  all  was  still  and  bright ;  but  the  mountain  air 
cooled  the  beams  that  otherwise  would  have  struck  death. 
We  bathed  our  feet  and  brows  in  a  gushing  tarn,  and  were 
again  ready  for  the  saddle. 


EDWARD  WORTLBY  MONTAGU.     529 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Julian,  "  that  the  greatest  caution 
is  now  requisite.  If  we  proceed  further  at  present,  we  shall 
one  and  all  of  us  be  picked  off  by  this  fellow's  bullets,  as 
easily  as  a  child  may  fling  a  stone  against  a  wall.  With 
the  elevation  that  he  commands,  and  the  front  we  shall 
present,  escape  would  be  hopeless,  and  from  what  we  awhile 
ago  heard,  it  is  evident  that  the  gypsy  will  not  be  caught 
napping.  Indeed,  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  has  already 
discovered  our  approach  with  his  telescope,  and  only  waits 
until  we  are  within  a  safe  distance  for  his  rifle,  to  rid  him- 
self of  all  further  apprehension  or  pursuit.  What  say  you, 
Senor?" 

There  was  no  disputing  the  sagacity  of  my  companion's 
remark.  To  wait  was  evidently  the  wisest  and  safest 
course  for  ourselves  ;  but  was  it  certain  that  while  we  were 
so  dilatory,  the  foe,  supposing  that  he  had  discovered  our 
pursuit,  would  not  make  off  by  some  other  route,  and  rid 
us  of  all  further  trouble  about  him  ?  Besides,  I  was  now  in 
a  state  of  wild  and  savage  excitement.  I  felt  as  a  hound 
feels  when  he  scents  the  track  of  the  game.  I  longed  to 
see  his  blood,  to  dabble  my  hands  in  it,  to  see  it  flow  on 
the  stones.  I  was  become  a  perfect  wild  beast  in  my  thirst 
for  vengeance.  While  my  judgment,  therefore,  for  a  mo- 
ment approved  of  the  counsel  of  Julian,  my  passions  stood 
up  against  it,  and  after  a  brief  pause  I  decided  to  proceed. 

"Julian,"  I  said,  " I  must  go  on.  I  should  drop  dead  if 
I  were  to  remain  here  inactive  until  evening ;  tlie  very 
anxiety  of  the  delay  would  kill  me.  Whatever  be  the  risk 
I  shall  proceed.  I  feel  a  presentiment  that  I  shall  not  die, 
but  that  he  will  fall.  Meanwhile,  my  friend,  now  that  I 
have  my  eye  upon  this  tiger's  den,  suffer  me  to  proceed 
alone.     I  shall  rejoin  you  when  all  is  over." 

Julian  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  not  consent  to  this.  How  know 
we  that  Balthazar  has  not  friends  with  him  who  would  over- 


530  EDWARD    WORTLBY    MONTA&TT. 

power  you  with  their  numbers,  and  murder  you  in  cold 
blood  ?  And  you  are  as  yet  only  twenty-two.  I  pledge  my 
honor  to  you  that,  if  he  should  be  alone,  I  will  not  inter- 
fere with  your  just  revenge ;  it  shall  be  a  fair  combat  be- 
tween man  and  man.  But  if  he  has  companions,  I  and  my 
brother  here  will  aid  you  to  the  last  gasp,  and  it  shall  not 
be  one  life  that  they  shall  take,  but  three." 

He  said  this  with  such  a  determined  resolution,  that  I 
saw  it  would  be  useless  to  argue  him  out  of  it ;  I  seized 
him  by  the  hand  and  thanked  him.  We  said  no  more,  but 
got  into  our  saddles  and  proceeded. 

I  felt  at  this  moment  as  if  every  nerve  were  iron.  I  sat 
upon  my  mule  stiff  as  a  statue  of  cold  steel.  I  could  not 
feel  my  heart  beat  or  my  pulse  throb,  so  calm  and  passion- 
less was  my  condition.  I  went  upon  this,  the  final  stage 
of  the  hunt,  as  a  judge  goes  upon  the  judgment-seat  to  con- 
demn some  hideous  criminal  to  death  for  murder.  It  was 
not  as  if  I  were  going  to  rid  a  human  being  of  life ;  but  to 
trample  out  the  existence  of  some  noxious  and  pestiferous 
beast,  the  foe  alike  of  God  and  man,  whom  it  was  a  posi- 
tive blessing  to  the  earth  to  slay.  I  could  now  no  longer 
judge  of  time  or  space.  I  knew  not  whether  I  rode  or 
walked ;  I  only  found  that  I  was  impelled  along  towards 
the  lair  where  my  foe  was  harbored. 

From  this  reverie  I  was  aroused  by  a  sudden  cry  from 
my  companion,  and  looking  up  I  saw  Dom  Balthazar,  who 
was  standing  with  his  back  against  a  steep  precipice,  and 
almost  before  I  had  seen  him,  my  hat  was  pierced  by  a 
bullet,  and  in  a  moment  after,  my  mule  fell  dead  beneath 
me  from  a  second  shot.  Julian  instantly  dismounted  to 
give  me  up  the  creature  which  he  himself  had  ridden,  but 
before  he  could  do  so,  the  mule  reared  on  its  haunches,  and 
fell  shot  through  the  very  brain.  Balthazar  again  aimed  at 
us  the  fourth  time;  but  Julian  now  fired,  and  this  or  some- 
thing else  unnerved  him  for  the  moment,  for  his  shot  passed 


BDWABD  WOETLEY  MONTAGU.     631 

harmlessly  over  our  heads,  and  he  retreated  behind  his 
rock,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  loading  again.  We 
now  lost  no  time,  but  charged  up  the  slope.  To  our  sur- 
prise, no  fifth  shot  was  fired,  but  when  we  reached  the 
place,  we  saw  Balthazar  already  half  a  mile  ofi",  mounted  on 
a  splendid  mule  and  fully  armed.  The  creature  seemed  to 
know  the  road  well,  and  went  forward  with  a  sure  foot ; 
but  as  it  was  necessary  for  his  rider  to  get  into  the  route 
by  which  we  had  ourselves  ascended,  lie  came  gradually 
nearer  and  nearer  to  us,  as  he  made  the  circuit,  and  when 
he  was  within  pistol  range,  I  fired,  but  missed,  and  the 
mule  alone  was  hit.  She  reared  and  tlirew  him,  and  then 
fell ;  but  lie  was  evidently  unhurt,  and  he  stopped  to  un- 
strap the  carbines  from  her  side.  We  now  rushed  down 
upon  him,  and  were  so  close  that  he  lost  his  coolness,  and 
he  ran  ofl",  leaving  his  fire-arms  behind  him,  but  still  for- 
midable with  a  sword  and  dagger.  He  descended  the 
mountain  with  the  speed  of  a  hunted  deer.  We  pursued 
him,  but  not  with  equal  quickness,  for  we  were  a  good  deal 
fatigued  by  our  long  journey.  Quick  and  quick,  almost  as 
the  very  thought,  he  rushed  headlong,  leaping  wildly  over  all 
impending  obstacles,  and  we  could  see  he  distanced  us  con- 
siderably. At  length  he  got  to  the  place  where  we  had  left 
the  Andalusian  steeds  tethered.  Balthazar  immediately 
perceived  the  value  of  this  discovery.  Striking  down  with 
a  terrible  blow  the  boy  who  attempted  to  prevent  him  seiz- 
ing the  horses,  he  unsheathed  his  sword,  and  having  ham- 
strung two  of  these  splendid  creatures,  he  mounted  the 
third,  and  disappeared  almost  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye. 
Here  was  a  catastrophe  wholly  unexpected  —  the  very 
means  we  had  provided  for  our  safety  being  used  against 
us  by  this  vigilant  knave.  One  mule  only  remained,  and 
this  I  mounted,  determined  to  overtake  him  or  perish. 
Lashing  the  beast  into  a  fury,  we  went  along  with  a  terrific 
speed,  such  as  I  had  never  before  seen  put  forth  by  such  a 


51^  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

creature;  but  I  had  made  it  mad,  and  it  scarcely  knew 
what  it  did,  or  whither  it  was  borne.  I  myself  was  per- 
fectl}'^  insane.  We  crossed  fearful  chasms,  and  rattled 
down  the  steep  mountain  side,  as  you  may  see  the  burning 
lava  dash  when  all  Mount  Etna  is  in  flame  and  the  moon  is 
red  as  blood.  Fire  flashed  out  of  every  flint — dust  and 
smoke  were  mingled;  through  stream  and  underwood  we 
rushed.  The  whole  scene  before  me  seemed  to  wave  and 
roll  and  whirl.  The  distant  Vega  stretched  out  like  one 
vast  boiling  ocean,  and  was  now  near,  now  afar  off;  now 
clothed  in  blackness,  now  mantling  with  sunny  light.  I  saw 
a  hundred  mocking  fiends  between  myself  and  Balthazar; 
a  hundred  figures  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  verj"^  stones,  and 
laugh  me  to  scorn,  and  struggle  to  impede  my  wild  pursuit. 
Methought  also  that  I  heard  borne  backward  by  the  breeze 
the  disdainful  shouts  of  my  foe,  as  he  urged  on  his  fiery 
courser,  and  bade  defiance  to  all  my  threats. 

Hope  arose  within  my  heart.  We  were  approaching  the 
place  where  Captain  Bermudez  and  his  friends  were  lodged, 
and  I  doubted  not  that  a  bullet  from  some  friendly  hand 
would  stop  the  course  either  of  the  horse  or  his  rider.  My 
mule  was  now  getting  beat ;  the  steed  of  Arab  blood  had 
distanced  her;  and,  albeit  occasionally  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Balthazar,  I  was  guided  in  my  pursuit  rather  b}'  the 
thunder  of  his  flying  courser  than  bj'  any  other  indication 
that  I  was  on  the  right  track.  Though  I  could  see  from 
afar  off  that  we  were  right  in  the  bandit's  course,  no  sign 
of  stoppage  was  presented.  On  the  contrary,  Balthazar 
appeared  at  the  extreme  end,  having  safely  passed  through 
the  bandit's  bivouac.  I  urged  my  wearied  mule  more  and 
more,  but  more  and  more  she  faltered  in  the  race.  At 
length,  as  I  galloped  madly  down  a  narrow  bridle-road, 
through  which  I  could  still  hear  the  far-retreating  echoes 
of  the  Andalusian's  hoofs  and  iron  shoes,  the  mulo  stag- 
gered, groaned,  and  would  have  fallen  headlong  had  I  not 


EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      533 

supported  her  with  a  tight  rein,  and  checked  her  terrible 
course.     Scarcely  had  I  stayed  her  and  dismounted,  when 
she  fell  dead  before  me;  her  heart  was  broken  in  the  fear- 
ful race.     I  lost  no  time  in  pressing  onward.     The  first 
person  I  saw  was  Captain  Bermudez.     In  a  few  moments  I 
told  him  all.     He  chafed  furiously  over  his  hamstrung 
steeds,  nor  was  he  less  enraged  about  that  which  Balthazar 
was  so  unceremoniously  using ;   but  he  ordered  out  the 
finest  stallion  he  possessed,  and  forcing  some  wine  down 
my  throat,  he  mounted  me  again,  and  bade  me  God  speed  I 
"I  would  have  shot  the  fellow  as  he  passed,"  he  said; 
"but  I  know  revenge  is  sweet,  and  I  would  not  deprive 
you  of  the  heavenly  morsel,"  and  I  was  glad  he  would  not. 
Now  I  was  mounted  like  a  king.    Never  was  a  nobler 
steed  than  that  which  my  friend  Bermudez  owned.     His 
Arab  blood  was  imaged  in  his  eye,  so  bright,  so  calm,  so 
noble,  yet  so  full  of  orient  fire.     He  might  have  carried 
Mohammed,  when  that  Mighty  Prophet  bore  at  Bcdir  the 
thunders  of  the  God  of  Truth,  and  gave  the  first  blow  to 
that  widespread  atheism  of  the  East,  which  had  so  long  de- 
veloped itself  in  idol  worship  and  sorcery.     Such  a  steed 
was  Pegasus,  when,  with  wings  flashing  ten  thousand  splen- 
dors, he  soared  in  heaven,  and  every  tenant  of  Olympus 
envied  his  haughty  rider.     Such  a  steed  was  the  bull-headed 
horse  that  carried  Alexander  to  conquest,  and  bore  him 
safely  through  a  thousand  perils.     He  was  dark  as  night ; 
his  coat  was  smooth  and  glossy  as  opal  or  Venetian  glass ; 
his  arched  neck  was  like  the  horse  in  Job,  clothed  and  girt 
with   thunders ;    his   haughty  nostrils  breathed  ethereal 
flame.    Nay,  by  the  gods,  I  do  not  exaggerate.     No  praise 
can  be  too  great  for  me  to  give  this  splendid  animal.     I 
have  loved  and  honored  the  horse  ever  since  that  day  for 
his  sake,  and  I  never  until  then  appreciated  the  deep  wis- 
dom of  Swift's  adventurous  traveller,  who,  like  Ulj'ssos, 
though  he  had  seen  and  known  the  customs  of  so  manj 
34 


684     EDWARD  WOKTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Btrange  people,  yet  found  all  the  virtues  under  lioaven  only 
in  the  horse.  In  a  few  words  Bermudez  told  him  what  I 
meant — ^that  I  was  following  a  fiend,  and  must  perish  or 
destroy  him ;  and  he  patted  his  neck  and  pinched  his  ears, 
and  bade  him  be  my  friend  in  all  I  did.  Right  well,  O 
noble  Selim,  didst  thou  understand  thy  master's  words. 
He  pawed  proudly  ere  I  mounted  him ;  he  turned  upon  me 
his  eyes  of  full  and  bright  intelligence,  and  when  I  was 
seated  on  his  back,  he  moved  forward  with  a  stately  grace 
that  passed  almost  from  a  trot  into  the  speed  of  a  lightning 
flash.  A  moment  since  I  was  with  the  bandits — and  now 
where  were  they  ? 

On,  on,  and  we  were  at  Albaycin.  The  perforated  cav- 
erns of  the  Gitanos,  crowned  with  Indian  fig-trees  and 
shrubs  of  emerald-green,  passed  before  my  eyes  like  a 
quickly-moving  panorama.  I  had  a  short  glimpse  of  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  dark-eyed  children  rolling  before 
their  mothers'  doors,  or  crowning  each  other  with  flowers ; 
but,  like  a  flashing  meteor,  I  was  thei"e  and  gone;  and, 
though  my  brethren  rushed  in  crowds  to  see  me,  attracted 
by  the  thundering  noise  of  my  horse's  hoofs,  I  can  only 
recollect  all  that  then  occurred  like  a  nightmare  dream.  I 
had  now  wholly  lost  sight  of  Dom  Balthazar,  but  some  of 
the  Gitanos  had  pointed  out  the  road  that  he  had  taken, 
and  it  was  that  precisely  which  I  supposed  he  would 
pursue.  It  was  in  the  direction  of  Sanlioque,  from  which, 
as  I  supposed,  he  might  possibly  obtain  a  passage  on 
board  ship,  and  thus  eflectually  baffle  me  for  the  present. 
Now  I  had  got  outside  Granada,  and  was  in  the  glorious 
Vega,  over  which  I  passed  like  fire,  inquiring  of  every  pas- 
senger whether  a  flying  horseman  was  in  front,  and  receiv- 
ing satisfactory  proof  in  every  answer  that  I  had  followed 
the  right  course,  and  must  soon  overtake  my  man.  The 
crops  were  in  full  perfection,  and  might  easily  have  afforded 
him  a  hiding  place,  for  they  were  full  seven  feet  high ;  but 


BDWABD    WORTLKT    MONTAOXT.  635 

I  was  80  careful  in  my  inquiries,  and  the  answers  to  all 
tallied  so  well,  that  I  had  no  doubt  he  was  still  in  the  hio-h 
road  ahead,  and  he  had  already  slacked  hi4  horse's  speed, 
so  confident  was  he  that  my  mule  had  failed,  or  speedily 
must  do  so.  Now  I  passed  La  Mala,  and  over  that  wretched 
road  and  gloomy  country  which  lies  between  that  and 
Huelma,  passed  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,  cheering  my 
•noble  steed,  and  patting  him  on  neck  and  head,  until  I  felt 
that  in  every  nerve  and  vein  he  fully  sympathized  with  his 
rider. 

Yes,  by  Alia  I  it  was  a  glorious  bunt.  I  likened  myself 
to  an  avenging  Angel  pursuing  some  odious  demon.  My 
brain  swam  with  hot  excitement — a  thousand  glorious 
purple  flashing  thoughts  darted  across  it,  as  I  beheld  the 
earth  and  heaven,  the  mountain  and  the  river,  dance  as  it 
were  before  me,  or  commingle  into  one  mighty  chaos, 
through  which  I  saw  only  one  distinct  being,  and  that  the 
object  of  my  pursuit.  The  splendid  epic  recollections  of 
the  past  rose  before  me,  and  I  was  by  turns  every  god  and 
hero  I  had  heard  or  read  of,  from  the  Orient  Rustam  to 
the  Western  Rinaldo.  Now  I  was  Jove,  following  the 
Titans  with  avenging  thunderbolts,  and  hurling  the  awful 
lightnings  of  the  spheres ;  now  I  was  Apollo  in  his  sun- 
gleaming  chariot,  riding  in  the  path  of  heaven ;  now  I  was 
Phcethon,  whirled  onwards  in  a  track  of  flame ;  or  Hector, 
following  the  flying  Greeks,  and  dealing  death  at  every 
stroke;  or  the  swiftly  striding  son  of  Peleus,  when  ho 
came  forth  like  a  tempest  to  wreak  revenge  for  the  slain 
Patroclus;  again  I  compared  myself  to  the  Erynnes,  that 
chased  the  murderous  Orestes,  and  on  his  guilty  eyei 
waved  their  flickering  torches ;  or  to  Medea,  when  having 
slain  her  fated  offspring  by  the  son  of  J-^son,  she  rose  in 
dragon-harnessod  car  and  soared  homewards  through  the 
startled  heaven 

Away ;  away ;  away ;  and  as  my  gallant  steed  heard  the 


686     EDWARD  WORTLKT  MONTAGU. 

word,  he  seemed  to  fly  over  the  ground.  I  had  no  need  to 
guide  him  with  the  rein,  or  urge  him  with  the  heel.  With 
the  quick  intelligence  of  his  kind,  he  thoroughly  under- 
stood my  motive  and  my  heart.  Yes !  thou  glorious  child 
of  the'  desert,  I  see  in  thy  shining  eyes,  and  haughty  neck, 
that  thou  also  dost  hate  this  accursed  wretch ;  thy  blood 
is  up  against  him ;  thou  knowest  that  he  has  wronged  me, 
and  that  he  merits  death.  Even  now  thy  brain  pants  with 
the  anticipated  rapture  of  my  revenge.  Thou  shalt  be 
known  to  all  time;  thou  shalt  be  honored  as  the  most 
glorious  steed.  Away;  away;  away;  and  like  a  comet  we 
were  borne,  scarcely  touching  the  ignoble  earth,  but  armed, 
and  winged,  and  swelling  with  exultant  joy  and  hope,  we 
outstripped  the  very  winds  in  speed. 

What  object  stops  me  in  my  path  ?  It  is  a  woman  and 
a  child;  they  are  lying  straight  before  me.  Are  they 
asleep  or  dead  ?  Stay,  stay,  thou  noble  steed.  Let  us  not 
trample  down  the  slumberers.  Mayhap  the  fiery  heat  has 
stricken  them,  and  they  are  resting  fatigued  after  a  hard 
day's  wandering.  Stay,  stay,  and  I  reined  him  in,  but 
gently,  gently,  for  his  Arab  blood  was  up,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  he  could  even  stay  himself.  But  when  the 
beast  of  noble  heart  saw  my  object,  and  that  in  the  narrow 
path  we  must  crush  the  prostrate  woman  and  her  babe  if 
we  stopped  not,  he  needed  no  further  word  from  me,  but 
gradually  subsided  into  a  gentle  trot,  and  from  that  into  a 
slow  but  haughty  pace.  No,  not  even  for  my  sacred  ven- 
geance will  I  forget  the  rights  that  even  the  lowliest  claim. 
She  was  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  bridle-path — it  was  no 
better.  A  deep  wound  was  in  her  head,  from  which  the 
blood  was  flowing  freely.  She  was  a  beggar — God  help 
her! — and  had  wandered  hither  from  Gibraltar  with  her 
babe.  She  told  me  she  had  seen  Dom  Balthazar,  and  had 
endeavored  to  get  out  of  his  way,  but  failing,  she  had  lifted 
her  hands  to  warn  him,  but  he  had  ridden  her  down  with 
the  relentless  fury  of  a  beast  of  prey.     Good  heavens !  how 


EDWARD  WORTLBT  MONTAGU.     537 

my  rage  rose !  The  baby  was  killed ;  its  brain  was  spat- 
tered on  the  rough  stones ;  she  herself,  in  striving  to  pro- 
tect the  innocent  infant,  was  hurled  against  a  heap  of  rock 
and  rendered  senseless ;  but  the  rider  laughed,  she  said, 
and  heedless  of  her  screams,  urged  his  reeking  steed  yet 
faster.  I  could  not  linger  long — but  I  endeavored  all  I 
could  to  soothe  the  poor  mother's  heart.  I  had  a  few 
silver  coins  which  I  bestowed  on  her;  but  she  regarded 
only  her  dead  baby,  with  a  kind  of  stupor  of  grief,  that 
filled  my  heart  with  black,  undying  rage.  On,  Selim,  on- 
ward yet — onward !  onward !  brave  and  gallant  steed ;  let 
us  stay  the  mad  career  of  this  unpitying  demon. 

The  sun  was  setting  as  I  rode  into  Huelma,  and  baited 
for  a  short  space  at  the  solitary  inn.  I  inquired  after  my 
flying  foe ;  he  had  passed  through  the  town  an  hour  before, 
botii  liorse  and  man  evidently  fatigued,  but  had  only  sta)-ed 
two  or  three  moments  to  procure  some  wine  and  brandy, 
and  a  draught  for  his  panting  steed.  He  had  told  the 
people  he  was  an  Englishman  pursued  by  robbers,  but 
nobody  belicA'cd  his  story ;  and  when  I  briefly  mentioned 
his  crime  and  my  pursuit,  concluding  with  his  wanton 
murder  of  the  innocent  child,  I  was  hailed  with  shouts  and 
vivas,  and  God  bless  you,  quite  sufficient  for  my  vanity, 
if  vanity  I  had.  From  this  place  to  Alhama,  which  is  the 
next  town,  is  fifteen  miles,  and  these  I  got  over  so  rapidly, 
though  the  town  itself  is  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain 
peak,  that  I  learned  that  Dom  Balthazar  had  but  left  at 
one  gate  of  the  town  as  I  entered  at  the  other.  It  was  at  this 
time  nearly  night ;  but  still  I  determined  to  go  on  until  I 
came  up  with  him.  There  was  a  steep  descending  road  of 
some  miles,  through  horrible  passes,  aud  even  deserts, 
bounded  on  the  one  side  by  the  sea,  and  on  the  other  by  a 
secluded  valley,  where  witches  might  have  dwelt  and  held 
their  horrid  orgies.  The  moon  was  up,  the  stars  were 
overhead,  and  I  could  see  before  me  to  a  great  extent. 
J  udge  of  my  joy  when,  about  four  miles  in  front,  and  in 


538  EDWARD     WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

an  open  path,  on  which  the  light  descended  brightly,  I  saw 
Dom  Balthazar  riding  leisurely  down  the  incline,  as  if  there 
were  no  such  creatures  as  Arab  steeds  and  avenging 
Englishmen  in  existence.  The  sight  drove  me  mad  with 
excitement,  and  though  I  was  now  sorely  fatigued,  the 
hope  that  this  desperate  pursuit  was  drawing  to  a  close 
revived  me  with  new  vigor,  and  patting  the  neck  of  my 
glorious  horse,  he  rose  under  me  with  redoubled  energy 
and  power,  and  visibly  gained  on  the  retreating  enemy. 
Oh,  blessed  moon,  still  shine  on  me  as  now,  and  soon  shall 
I  overtake  this  flj'ing  assassin !  and  ye,  0  stars,  lend  me 
still  your  virgin  light !  Francesca's  name  crossed  my  lips, 
and  at  that  blessed  word  I  felt  new  courage,  new  hope, 
new  certainty.  I  was  within  a  mile  of  Balthazar  before 
he  knew  that  I  was  nigh. 

Oh !  how  he  fled !  God  in  heaven,  there  is  indeed  a  con- 
science and  a  fear  even  in  the  most  hellish-hearted.  Aye, 
a3'e,  disguise  it  from  thee  as  thou  wilt,  0  wicked  one,  thou 
knowest  in  thine  inmost  soul  the  might}'  power  of  Heaven 
and  truth  and  innocence.  Thou  mayest  laugh  their  holy 
names  to  scorn  in  thy  drunken  moments  with  thy  mad  com- 
panions, but,  when  thou  art  alone  at  midnight,  with  the 
stai's  of  light  above,  the  solemn  silence  of  the  hour  around, 
the  visible  presence  of  the  Infinite  and  Unknown  above 
thee,  over  thee,  and  all-embracing,  then  indeed  thou  con- 
fessest  their  power,  and  art  constrained  to  bow  before  their 
awful  sanctit3^  So  felt  this  horrid  wretch.  Casting  one 
quick  and  fearful  glance  backwards,  he  saw  the  Just 
Avenger  on  his  track.  I  could  feel  magnetically  that  he 
shuddered  even  to  his  heart's  core.  I  could  feel  as  it  were 
in  my  own  vital  being  that  a  mighty  arrow  had  gone  forth 
from  me  and  smitten  hlra  -with  icy  coldness.  He  fled,  but 
his  steed  evidently  flagged ;  and  when  my  glorious  Selim 
knew  that  the  hated  enemy  was  at  hand,  he  snorted  like  a 
mighty  spirit  of  thunder,  and  redoubled  his  fierce  pursuit. 
He  tore  up  the  earth,  he  flung  tlic  stones  beneath  his  feet 


KDWAED  WORTLKY  MONTAGU.      639 

like  so  many  straws,  the  ground  flashed  in  the  dark  night 
as  if  the  Cyclops  were  beating  it  with  their  steel  hammers. 
The  rapidity,  the  dreadful  energy  of  his  wild  course  was 
something  supernatural.  He  seemed  animated  by  a  spirit 
which  belonged  not  to  the  earth.  The  whole  landscape  ran 
past  me ;  it  whirled  in  mine  eye  and  was  gone.  I  was  no 
longer  master  of  myself.  The  demoniac  wildness  of  my 
horse  entered  into  and  became  part  of  my  own  being.  I 
was  the  Wild  Huntsman  of  the  Black  Forest.  I  was  bent 
on  Death,  and  I  fled  with  the  speed  of  Death.  I  lifted  up 
my  eyes  to  heaven,  and  the  stars  themselves  whirled  by  and 
were  outstript.  I  was  close  upon  him,  and  my  heait  began 
at  length  to  beat. 

The  final  struggle  evidently  was  at  hand.  I  knew  that 
we  must  meet  for  life  or  death  in  less  than  half-an-hour,  and 
I  rejoiced  that  the  encounter  was  so  near.  Balthazar  had 
evidently  no  relish  for  fighting.  On  the  contrary,  the  mo- 
ment that  he  heard  my  horse's  hoofs,  and,  looking  back, 
guessed,  by  the  uncertain  light,  that  I  was  on  his  track,  he 
urged  on  his  jaded  steed  as  hardly  as  he  could,  hoping  to 
reach  Velez,  where  he  might  probably  claim  the  aid  of  the 
authorities,  and  involve  me  in  fresh  troubles.  He  reckoned 
without  his  host  in  this.  I  gained  upon  him  so  rapidly 
that  he  struck  out  of  the  high  road  and  fled  across  the 
country,  making  towards  the  terrible  deserts  of  the  Sierra 
de  Tepida,  where  doubtless  he  hoped,  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  place,  to  bewikler  and  mislead  me.  The  sky  now 
became  overcast,  and  I  lost  sight  of  him  for  some  time ;  I 
could  not  even  hear  his  horse's  hoofs  upon  the  soil  herbage, 
but  my  steed  knew,  as  if  by  Divine  instinct,  that  I  was  pur- 
suing him  to  death,  and  I  left  to  him  to  follow  in  the  other 
courser's  footsteps,  and  admirably  he  did  so.  His  sagacity 
was  perfect.  The  first  moment  that  the  moon  emerged  from 
behind  the  cloud  I  saw  we  were  close  upon  Balthazar,  and 
a  more  rugged,  wild,  or  lonely  scene  could  scarcely  be  pre- 
sented than  that  which  met  my  eye ;  for  it  was  nothing  but 


540  EDWARD       WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

a  medley  of  rocks  and  tors  and  hissing  niountain-stieams, 
with  scarcely  any  vegetation — ^the  verj'  place  that  a  bravo 
would  select  for  a  m\irder  or  a  novelist  for  a  ghost  story. 
Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  heaped  every  given  accessory 
about  it  that  could  lend  to  solitude  and  desolation  their 
most  imposing  features. 

"  In  this  place,"  I  said,  "  shall  this  man  die;  and  fit  it  is 
for  such  a  fiend.  The  vulture  and  the  wolf  shall  have  his 
body ;  as  for  his  soul,  the  devil  will  take  care  of  tiiat." 

His  horse  was  now  wholly  knocked  up,  and  could  not 
move  a  foot  farther.  All  farther  flight  was  useless.  He 
whirled  round  and  faced  me.  He  was  dcadl.y  pale;  but 
his  ej'es  were  an  image  of  hell  fire.  In  his  hand  he  held  a 
sword ;  he  had  no  firearms :  this  was  perhaps  lucky  for 
me;  but  Satan  generally  deserts  these  fellows  iu  the  end, 
and  they  want  the  very  implement  of  devildom  which  would 
serve  them  most.  His  courage  was  as  usual  unflinching, 
and  as  he  could  not  murder,  he  resolved  to  fight  me.  He 
remained  on  his  steed  awaiting  my  attack.  He  had  not 
long  to  do  so.  My  horse  was  alrea;ly  going  at  a  furious 
pace,  and  I  resolved  not  to  check  him.  Ou  the  contraiy, 
1  had  no  doubt  I  should  bear  him  down  like  a  whirlwind 
before  me.  So  far,  therefore,  from  reining  in  my  steed,  1 
urged  him  still  more  resolutely  with  voice,  and  hand,  and 
heel,  and  rode  him  right  against  Balthazar.  The  shock 
was  dreadful.  He  flew  out  of  the  saddle  like  a  rocket,  and 
fell  heavily  on  the  ground.  As  he  did  so,  the  sword  which 
he  held  still  in  his  hand  entered  his  heart,  and  he  was  dead 
in  an  instant.  Thus  perished  Dom  Balthazar.  I  left  him 
to  the  wolves,  and  rode  back  to  Granada,  much  more  satis- 
fied than  when  I  left  it.  I  was  cool  enough  to  lead  back  to 
Captain  Bermudez  the  footsore  Arab,  wliich  the  dead  devil 
had  run  away  with ;  and  we  both  rejoiced  merrily  over 
many  a  flask  of  sunny  Val  de  Penas. 

THE   END. 


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BOOKS  FOR  PRIVATE  STUDY  AND  SCHOOLS. 

The  Lawrence  Speaker.  A  Selection  of  Literary  Gems  in  Poetry  and 
Prose,  designed  for  the  use  of  Colleges,  Schools,  Seminaries,  Literary 
Societies.   By  Philip  Lawrence,  Professor  of  Elocution.    600  page8..$2  00 

Comstock's  Elocution  and  Model  Speaker.  Intended  for  the  use  of 
Schools,  Colleges,  and  for  private  Study,  for  the  Promotion  of 
Health,  Cure  of  Stammering,  and  Defective  Articulation.  By  An- 
drew Comstock  and  Philip  Lawrence.    With  236  Illustrations 2  00 

The  French,  German,  Spanish,  Latin  and  Italian  Languages  Without 
a  Master.  Whereby  any  one  of  these  Languages  can  easily  be 
learned  by  any  person  without  a  Teacher,  with  the  aid  of  this 
book.     By  A.  H.  Alonteith.     One  volume,  cloth, 2  00 

Comstock's  Colored  Cbart.  Being  a  perfect  Alphabet  of  the  Eng- 
lish Language,  Graphic  and  Typic,  with  exercises  in  Pitch,  Force 
and  Gesture,  and  Sixty-Eight  colored  figures,  representing  the  va- 
rious postures  and  different  attitudes  to  be  used  in  declamation. 
On  a  large  Roller.     Every  School  should  have  a  copy  of  it, 6  00 

Liebig'a  Complete  Works  on  Chemistry.     By  Baron  Justus  Liebig...  2  00 

WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST   AUTHORS. 

The  followiug  hoolcs  are  each    issued    in    one  large    duodecimo  volume, 
hound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  each  one  is  inpaper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  Initials.      A  Love  Story.      By  Baroness  Tautphoeus $1   75 

Margaret  Maitland.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant,  author  of  "Zaidee," 1  75 

Family  Pride.     By  author  of  "Pique,"  "  Fiunily  Secrets,"  etc 1  75 

Self-Sacrifice.     By  author  of  "Margaret  Maitland,"  etc 1  76 

The  Woman  in  Black.     A  C<impanion  to  the  "Woman  in  White,"...  1  75 

A  Woman's  Thoughts  about  Women.     By  Miss  Muloeh, 1  75 

Flirtations  in  Fashionable  Life.     By  Catharine  Sinclair, 1  75 

False  Pride;  or,  Two  Ways  to  Matrimony.     A  Charming  Book, 1  75 

The  Heiress  in  the  Family.     By  Mrs.  Mackenzie  Daniel, 1  75 

The  Heiress  of  Sweetwater.     A  Charming  Novel, 1  75 

Woman's  Wrong.     By  Mrs.  Eiloart,  author  of  "St.  Bede's," 1  75 

A  Lonely  Life.    By  the  author  of  "  Wise  as  a  Serpent,"  etc 1  76 

The  Macdermots  of  Ballycloran.     By  Anthony  Trollope, 1  75 

Lost  Sir  Ma.'singberd.     By  the  author  of  "  Carly on 's  Year," 1  75 

The  Forsaken  Daughter.     A  Companion  to  "Linda," 1  75 

Love  and  Liberty.  A  Revolutionary  Story.  By  Alexander  Dumas,  1  75 
Rose  Douglas.  A  Companion  to  "  Family  Pride,"  and  "Self  Sacrifice,"  1  75 
Family  Secrets.     A  Companion  to  "Family  Pride,"  and  "Pique,"...  1  76 

The  Morrisons.     By  Mrs.  Margaret  Hosmer, 1  75 

My  Son's  Wife.     By  author  of  "Caste,"  "Mr.  Arle,"  etc 1  75 

The  Rich  Husband.     By  author  of  "  George  Geith," 1  75 

Harem  Life  in  Egypt  and  Constantinople.     By  Emmeline  Lett, 1  75 

The  Rect<jr'fl  Wife;  or,  the  Valley  of  a  Hundred  Fires, 1  75 

Woodhurn  Grange.     A  Novel.     By  William  Howitt, 1  76 

Country  Quarters.     By  the  Countess  of  Blessington, 1  76 

Out  of  the  Depths.     The  Story  of  a  "Woman's  Life," 1  75 

The  Coquette:  or,  the  Life  and  Letters  of  Eliza  Wharton, 1  75 

The  Pride  of  Life.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.     By  Lady  Jane  Scott,....  1   75 

The  Lost  Beauty.     By  a  Nofed  Lady  of  the  Spanish  Court, 1  75 

Rome  and  the  Papacy.  A  History  of  the  Men,  Manners  and  Tempo- 
ral Government  of  Romo  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  as  admin- 
istered by  the  Pricsis.      With  a  Life  of  P(.pe  Pius  IX., 1  75 

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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLIC ATIOKS.  5 


WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

Tka  folloieing  book*  are   each    utued   in    one   large  duodecimo  ro^inN^ 
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My  Hero.     By  Mrs.  Forrester.     A  Charming  Love  Story, $1  7$ 

The  Count  of  Monte-Cristo.  By  Alexander  Duium.  Illustrated,...  1  74 
The  Countess  of  Monte-Cristo.     Paper  cover,  price  $1.00;  or  cloth,..  1  74 

Camillo;  or,  the  Fate  of  a  Coquette.     By  Alexander  Dumas, 1  76 

The  Quaker  Soldier.  A  Revolutionary  Romance.  By  Judge  Jones,....  1  74 
The  Man  of  the  World.  An  Autobiography.  By  William  North,...  1  74 
The  Queen's  Favorite ;  or.  The  Price  of  a  Crown.     A  Love  Story,...  1  74 

Self  Love;  or.  The  Afternoon  of  Single  and  Married  Life, 1  74 

The  Dead  Secret.  By  Wilkie  Collins,  author  "  The  Crossed  Path,"...  1  74 
Memoirs  of  Vidocq,  the  French  Detective.    His  Life  and  Adventures,  1  74 

The  Clyflfards  of  Clyffe,  by  author  of  "  Lost  Sir  Massingberd," 1  74 

Camors.  "  The  Man  of  the  Second  Empire."  By  Octavo  Feuillet,..  1  74 
Life,  Speeches  and  Martyrdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     Illustrated,...  1  74 

The  Crossed  Path;  or  Basil.     By  Wilkie  Collins, 1  74 

Indiana.  A  Love  Story.  By  George  Sand,  author  of  "  Consuelo,"  1  74 
The  Belle  of  Washington.  With  her  Portrait.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Laxselle,  1  74 
Cora  Bolmont ;  or,  The  Sincere  Lover.  A  True  Story  of  the  Heart,.  1  74 
The  Lover's  Trials;  or  Days  before  177S.  By  Mr«<.  Mnry  A.  Deni.«on,  1  76 
High  Life  in  Washington.    A  Life  Picture.    By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasscllc,  1  74 

The  Beautiful  Widow;  or,  Lodore.     By  Mrs.  Percy  B.  Shelley 1   74 

Love  and  Money.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  the  "  Rival  Belles,"...  I  74 
The  Matchmaker.  A  Story  of  High  Life.  By  Beatrice  Reynolds,..  1  74 
The  Brother's  Secret ;  or,  the  Count  De  Mara.  By  William  Godwin,  1  75 
The  Lost  Love.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant,  author  of  "  Margaret  Muilland,"  1  74 
The  Roman  Traitor.     By  Henry  William  Herbert.   A  Roman  Story,  1  74 

The  Bohemians  of  London.     By  Edward  M.  Whitty, 1  74 

The  Rival  Belles;  or,  Life  in  Washington.     By  J.  B.  Jones, 1  74 

The  Devoted  Bride.  A  Story  of  the  Heart.  By  St.  George  Tucker,  1  74 
Love  and  Duty.  By  Mrs.  Hubback,  author  of  "  May  and  December,"  1  74 
Wild  Sports  and  Adventures  in  Africa.  By  Major  W.  C.  Harris,  1  74 
Courtship  and  Matrimony.     By  Robert  Morris.     With  a  Portrait,...  1  74 

The  Jealous  Husband.     By  Annette  Marie  Maillard, 1   74 

The  Refugee.      By  Herman  Melville,  author  of  "  Omoo,"  "  Typee,"  1  74 

The  Life,  Writings,  and  Lectures  of  the  late  "  Fanny  Fern," 1  74 

The  Life  and  Lectures  of  Lola  Montez,  with  her  portrait 1  74 

Wild  Southern  Scenes.     By  author  of  "  Wild  Western  Scenes," 1  74 

Currer  Lyle;  or,  the  Autobiography  of  an  Actress.  By  Louise  Reeder.  1  74 
Coal,  Coal  Oil.  and  all  other  Minerals  in  the  Earth.     By  Eli  Bowen,  1  74 

The  Cabin  and  Parlor.     By  J.  Thornton  Randolph.     Illustrated, 1  75 

Jealousy  ;  or,  Tererino.  By  George  Sand,  author  of"  Consuelo,"  et«.  1  74 

The  Little  Beauty.     A  Love  Story.     By  Mrs.  Grey 1  74 

Secession,  Coercion,  and  Civil  War.     By  J.  B.  Jones, 1  75 

Six  Nights  with  the  Washingtonians.     By  T.  S.  Arthur 1  75 

Liziie  Glenn ;  or,  the  Trials  of  a  Seamstress.     By  T.  S.  Arthur 1  74 

Lady  Maud  ;  or,  the  Wonder  of  Kingswood  Chase.    By  Pierce  Egan,  1  74 

Wilfred  Montressor ;  or,  High  Life  in  New  York.     Illustrated 1  7* 

The  Old  Stone  Mansion.  By  C.  J.  Peterson,  author  "KnieAylesford,"  1  74 
Kate  Aylesford.  By  Chas.  J.  Peterson,  author  "  Old  Stone  Mansion,".  1  75 

Lorrimor  Littlegood,  by  author  "  Harry  Coverdale's  Couruhip,*' 1  74 

The  Barl's  Secret.     A  Love  Story.     By  Miss  Pardoe 1  75 

The  Adopted  Heir.  By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  "The  Earl's  Secret,"  1  71 

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, — «  ••■  » 

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6    T.  ^.  PETEESOlff  &  BECyTHEES'  PUBLICATIOH'S. 
WOEXS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTH0S8. 

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The  Conseripc     A  Tale  of  War.     Bj  Alexandra^  J>umaa,  1  75 

Eiiratoga.     Aa  Indian  Tale  of  Frontier  Life.  A  tnw  Story  of  1787,-  1  75 

hlartied  ai  Last.     A  Lore  Scory.     By  Annie  Tbomas,.. 1  75 

The  Tower  ef  London.  By  W.  Haniaon  Ainawortb.  ninstisted,...  1  75 
ShevUer  Stnpa.  By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Days  of  Shoddy,"  1  75 
Days  of  Shoddy.     By  Henry  Marford,  author  of  "  Shonlder  Straps,"  1  75 

Th»  Coward.     By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Shonlder  Straps," 1  75 

The  Cavalier.  By  G.  P.  R.  James,  aathor  of  "Lord  Montagu's  Page,"  1  75 

Rose  Foster.     By  Georje  W.  M.  Reynolds,  Esq., 1  75 

Lord  Montagu's  Page.  By  G.  P.  R.  James,  author  of  "  CaTalier,"...  1  75 
Mrs.  Ana  S.  Stephens'  Celebrated  Novels.  Eighteen  rolwBCS  in  all,  31  50 
MrSL  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Soethworth's  Popular  Norels.   35  toIs.  in  all,  61  25 

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T.  A.  Trollope's  Works.     Seven  volumes  in  all, 12  25 

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Washington  and  His  Generals.     By  George  Lippard... 2  00 

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Be&atifal  Snow,  and  Oiher  Poems.  \ttr  liiutrated  Edition.  Bv  J. 
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